#your misuse of that word is almost as bad as your takes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ichorai · 11 months ago

Text

stitch ; coriolanus snow.

pairing ; young!coriolanus snow x capitol!reader (gender-neutral)

synopsis ; and he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. he brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection.

words ; 8.7k

themes ; angst, action, mild fluff

warnings / includes ; themes of classism, violence/injury/death/drug misuse, foul language, lucky being lucky, a lot of kisses, coryo's paranoia, he's much more toxic this chapter someone pls save reader (aka doomed by the narrative), i tried to keep him in character as best i could </3

a/n ; thank you for all the support on this series so far! if i've planned this out right, there will be two more parts coming after this one!

series masterlist. main masterlist.

Considering you survived numerous explosions and a metal-pipe lodged in your abdomen, you weren’t looking all that bad. Though you were still badly aching, the injuries you had sustained during the bombings strayed away from your face, save for a few small cuts and bruises that would heal in no time. It made it easy for you to pretend like everything was okay as you donned a crisp, ironed, academy uniform. A new one, that wasn’t stained with your blood and the arena’s dust.

All the doctors had advised you to stay at the hospital to rest and recover. But with the games starting in mere hours… you couldn’t leave Wovey alone. You made a promise, and you intended to keep it.

After surprisingly little begging, your mother caved and signed the release forms for you, on the condition that you’d stay on a wheelchair for the entire duration of the games—or until you were fully healed. Whichever came first.

Coriolanus came early that morning, looking more tired than the last time you saw him, and promised your mother that he’d take care of you with a charming smile. He kissed your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your jaw, before wheeling you off to the academy. The warm, fresh wind was refreshing against your face, billowing your hair to and fro.

“I gave her rat poison,” Coriolanus said as he pushed you along.

The suddenness of his words startled you into a flabbergasted silence. You stared straight ahead for a few moments, lips screwing to the side, trying your best to remain calm. Then, you gritted out, “What in Panem made you think that was a good idea? If Highbottom finds out… it’ll be over for you, Coryo. That’ll be grounds for worse than expulsion.”

“Lucy Gray has to win. She can’t—on her own. I had to give her something.” Coriolanus’ hands flexed on the handles of the wheelchair.

“I can’t cover for you forever, Coryo,” you whispered, words almost lost to the wind. But he heard.

He narrowed his pale eyes at the back of your head. “You won’t tell, will you?” There was a biting edge to his tone.

“You’re an idiot if you think I would.” You pressed a hand over your bandaged abdomen, obscured by the vibrant red fabric. “Besides—if you go down, I’d go down with you. With enough secrets of yours I bite down on… that makes me an accomplice, too.”

Lucky Flickerman’s eyes were wide as saucers when you showed up to the academy in a wheelchair. He fluttered over to you with a reporter following close behind him, shoving a camera into your face. You loved him, truly, but it was hard to tell apart the Lucky that appeared in front of cameras and the real Lucky your mother was best friends with. A myriad of questions fell from the mustached man’s mouth, and you only managed to answer one and a half of them before Sejanus appeared, and Lucky turned to him to ask him questions about his missing tribute.

With a roll of his eyes, Coriolanus pushed you down a ramp (one that hadn’t been there until just a few hours ago, when they heard news of you coming in a wheelchair), and settled you in front of a monitor with your name on it, in the middle of the rows of seats. His was by the very edge, much to both of your dismay.

“Let me know if you need anything,” he told you, enveloping one of your hands in both of his. He kneeled down in front of you so he’d be at eye-level.

You nodded, but pursed your lips. “Why did you tell me? About the…” You trailed off, worried someone would overhear. But he knew what you were talking about—the rat poison.

He tried his best to give you a genuine smile, nudging his knuckles beneath your chin. They felt cold against your skin—a stark contrast to what the wind outside had felt like. “It’s like you said, isn’t it? Enough secrets of mine you hoard, the more you’re tethered to me.”

You couldn’t quite tell if he was joking. Your lips parted, but no words left your tongue.

Dipping forward, he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead. “Let’s hope this is over quickly.”

Let’s hope they all die quick, he might as well have said.

“Mmh,” you told him, sparing something akin to a smile. Though, it might’ve looked more like a grimace. Coriolanus’ head was far too preoccupied to notice. You felt sick, and glanced around at all the other students who were taking their seats. Lucky was making his way to the front to get some final touch-ups, flashing you an encouraging wink.

A minute later, he waved away the makeup artists and brandished a microphone from thin air. You almost rolled your eyes—his amateur magic tricks were certainly getting better and better.

“Okay, everyone, places! We’re about to go live! Just because we’re not hosting doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Help me out here, alright? Don’t get lost behind your screens. No yawning, no gum-chewing—keep your chins down, heads up, shoulders back, people! And—do remember to smile. It’s why we have teeth.”

Lucky began grinning from ear-to-ear as a demonstration.

His teeth are far too white for his face, Coriolanus thought as he settled into his seat. A shade brighter and I’d surely go blind.

With a hand raised, Lucky began counting down with his fingers. He announced himself with his usual charming flair—and when the music started thrumming, low and ominous, he began wishing everyone a happy Hunger Games, before rushing off to stand behind all the students.

The large screen in the center of the theater lit up with a shot of the tributes walking into the arena. Several dozens of smaller screens surrounding it gave the students a wide plethora of different angles.

Your throat went dry upon seeing Wovey and Lucy Gray emerge from the entrance tunnel holding hands. They smiled at each other—one of the smaller cameras managed to catch it just perfectly—all soft and encouraging. Peacekeepers pushed the two onward with the barrels of their guns and they were forced to separate.

“Stand on your marks or you will be shot,” the announcement system buzzed.

Some of the tributes sobbed. Some of them hardened with determination.

The cameras panned around—until one of them landed on a hanging body, strung up by bloody ropes. Your eyes widened when you recognized him as Sejanus’ tribute.

Was he dead?

His chest gave a hunkering breath, though shallow and wheezy, and you dreaded to think about how much pain he must’ve been in.

“Guess we can all sleep better now knowing he’s off the streets,” Lucky said into the microphone. The audience of students behind you burst into sporadic cheers and bouts of laughter.

This must’ve been the last straw for Sejanus, as he got up from his desk and just about chucked the entire monitor across the theater. It fell against the stage with several clutters and thunks. Many of the students nearby flinched.

“YOU’RE MONSTERS!” he screamed, face wrought with anguish. “ALL OF YOU!”

With that, he stormed out. Perhaps if you weren’t confined to your wheelchair or in a great amount of pain you would’ve followed him, you thought. But maybe you were just making excuses for yourself.

Sejanus was a brave man with a rash head. You were neither brave nor rash.

Lucky began to count down again. And just as he reached one, a loud, buzzer-like sound rang through the arena. Echoed into the theater from the monitors.

The tributes began running every which way. You had your eyes fixed on Wovey. At first, she seemed to jaggedly step towards the center, where a selection of weapons were laid out. But she thought better of it once she saw all the commotion and scuttled back to the rows of seats as fast as she could. She climbed and climbed, and your chest was heavy with the idea of her falling, or of someone following her. Nobody did, thankfully.

There you go, sweetheart. Hide.

The last you saw of Wovey was the top of her small head before she disappeared behind the dusty seats. Good.

Then, you turned your attention to Lucy Gray, running around and screaming for Jessup. You briefly glanced back at Coriolanus, who was looking incredibly tense. His entire face seemed to be set into a deep frown.

What is she doing? he mouthed, mostly to himself. Run!

Immediately, buzzes rang out through the theater as tributes were slowly eliminated and disappointed students got up from their seats. You tried your best to avert your eyes from all the blood and gore. The screams, however, you couldn’t escape. A girl three seats away from you puked all over the floor, much to Lucky’s irritation.

To your relief, Lucy Gray managed to find Jessup amidst the chaos, grabbing his arm and pulling him towards the hole in the ground—into the tunnels. A few angry tributes were following after them at a worryingly quick pace. Lucky made a rather smug comment about the gamemakers being prepared enough to have security cameras installed in every nook and cranny, even after the bombing “disruption”.

You let out a large breath you didn’t realize you were holding in when Lucy Gray managed to crawl into a room through a flap in the door, Jessup hot on her heels. The tributes cursed and yelled, but no one dared follow in after the two in fear of getting hurt while trying to get in.

“Thirteen tributes remain,” announced Lucky. He looked to you and gave you a wink. “Reaper still looming large on top of the charts while Coral and her pack try to make a play. Little Wovey has done an excellent job of scaling the broken columns and hiding beneath what’s left of the seats. Let’s hope we see her soon.”

You glanced at your monitor. There were options to send her food or water if need be. But not yet. You had to be resourceful with the donations you had.

“Six tributes gone in minutes. If they keep it up at this pace… we’re going to be out of here in no time.”

Many hours passed. It was incredibly quiet for a long time—save for Lucky moving off to the side to do some reporting of the weather. Some students even fell asleep by their monitors.

You were growing tired too, lids heavy with exhaustion and head bobbing up and down a few times. You tried to keep yourself awake, paranoid that something could happen to Wovey if you were to accidentally doze off. To your relief, you snapped awake when a hand rested on your shoulder and Coriolanus kneeled down beside you, offering a bottle of water. It felt wrong to be drinking at your leisure when the tributes were probably parched right now.

You took the bottle with a grateful mutter of thanks and took a hefty swig.

“How are you feeling? Your wounds okay?” His hand moved up to gently smooth over the back of your head.

“I think so,” you replied, before grimacing. “I don’t like watching this, Coryo. I never have.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered. “I can take you back, if you want. To the hospital.”

“No. I have to stay,” you protested. He seemed relieved at this, not keen on leaving any time soon.

With a curt nod, he gestured back to his own seat. “Just—let me know if you need anything.”

“You should focus on your tribute, Coriolanus,” you told him, brushing the back of your fingers along his jaw.

“My tribute didn’t have a metal pipe sticking out of her a day ago,” he whispered. “You’re priority number one. You always will be.”

“Well, I’m fine. Lucy Gray, however, is much more at risk,” you replied airily. “If my Wovey can’t win… I’d really rather see her alive.”

Those pale eyes of his searched yours.

“I love you,” he said. It was abrupt and sounded as if someone was strangling it out of him.

“I love you, too. Get back to your seat before Highbottom finds a way to get mad at you,” you told him. With a pointed jerk back to his seat, you heavily emphasized, “Again.”

With a squeeze of your shoulder (you tried your best not to grimace, since he pressed right against a large bruise on your collarbone), he rose back to full height and headed back to his monitor.

The arena was still silent, even an hour later. Just as you were beginning to seriously consider taking a nap, there came a rustling from the rubble. Lamina, the other district two tribute, rose from behind a large stone slab, and approached the hanging Marcus.

His blood from all the exposed wounds he’d acquired had slowly dripped down his body and formed a frighteningly sizable, semi-dried puddle down below. It was a wonder how he hadn’t already succumbed to his wounds.

Lamina climbed up the broken stone columns to make her way to him. There were several dried tear tracks on her face, and her nose was very red. Lamina stroked Marcus’ head, and he seemed to jerk alive with her touch. His chest rose and fell in a broken, staggering motion.

“Please…” he croaked. “Please…”

He dissolved into gentle sobs.

When Lamina raised her hatchet, you tore your eyes away and looked downward. There came a sick squelch as she struck him and the audience gasped. Lamina cut at his bonds and watched his body crumple down to the ground. Donations for Lamina began to steadily climb higher.

Pup Harrington, Lamina’s mentor, decided to take it upon himself to be the first one to send his tribute a drone with water. Dread settled the pit of your stomach when the drone buzzed in through the broken rooftop of the arena—but it didn’t seem to slow down. No, it only accelerated faster and faster the closer it got. Lamina gave a little shriek and ducked just in time—the drone crashed into the stone column and exploded into a thousand metal parts. The glass water bottle fell down below and shattered by Marcus’ now-dead body.

How were you supposed to send Wovey water now? Perhaps you’d send her food instead—that way, it wouldn’t shatter and go to waste if it hit anything. You scrolled through the options on your monitor. Apples would be a good choice. Plenty of water in them. But you held back—Wovey might’ve been asleep underneath those seats.

A few more hours passed by, slipping well into nightfall. You took a vial of prescribed morphling from your bag and downed it in one go. You could feel it buzzing through your system almost immediately, numbing the sting of your still-healing wounds. It just so happened that Highbottom swept down the steps then, eyeing you behind those spectacles of his. You shuddered and leaned your head down onto the table. The drugs were making you incredibly sleepy.

Highbottom stopped just behind Coriolanus. “You can’t save her by watching,” he murmured to his most loathsome student. “What do you want from that girl?”

“Nothing,” the blonde gritted out. “I want her to live.”

“Mmh. And the Plinth Prize would be a happy coincidence, I suppose.”

Coriolanus’ eyes squinted at nothing in particular. “I believe I’d be entitled to it.”

“Of course you do,” Highbottom retorted, tone heavy with condescension. “And who do you think makes the final decision for the prize you so covet, Mr. Snow? Wake up. Even if Lucy Gray Baird somehow wins it all, I will do everything in my power to make sure that you don’t see a single dime. So… ask yourself this: how much do you care if she lives now?”

Coriolanus was gripping his hands into fists so tight that they turned a ghostly-white.

“And I know… if the young and talented Y/N wins that prize… it’ll go straight to you. Isn’t that right?” Highbottom’s lips twitched in amusement when Coriolanus stiffened. “So it seems that neither of you will be seeing that prize, Mr. Snow.”

His jaw twitched, and he snapped his head to the scowling dean. “You can’t punish them because of me. That’s not fair. Y/N doesn’t deserve that.”

Highbottom let out a gruff laugh, quiet enough for nobody to notice. Mostly everyone had gone home or was asleep, anyway. “It’s not like Y/N would have won anyway—not with that quiet little runt. Kid was doomed from the very start. Take a good look in front of you, boy. Take a look at those tributes—and then you come and tell me what’s fair.”

The very last word was practically spat at him. The dean turned on his heel and marched off.

Still, hours passed by silently. Lucky was clearly growing agitated with the fact that things were moving so slowly. He’d already had to cancel two dinner appointments.

When Volumnia Gaul stepped into the academy, a dark cloak draped over her shoulders, you were already half-awake. She stood beside you menacingly, and you startled into full alert with a small noise of surprise, the bright blue of one of her eyes boring right into you. She said your name then, all low and elongated. You could barely suppress the shiver that ran down your spine. Still groggy, your blurry peripheral vision told you that practically every one had retired for the night. Save for a few straggler students and, of course, Coryo. You noticed, with muted interest, that every single screen was frozen on an image of the Panem crest, rather than the security camera footage inside the arena.

“I can smell the morphling on you,” she muttered, brows raised. “You should go home. Get some rest. Change those bandages of yours.”

You glanced down at your abdomen—a grimace made its way onto your face when you noticed that your uniform (new, mind you), was stained with a fresh bout of blood. You’d bled through your bandages. With a frown, you uneasily swallowed. It didn’t seem like Dr. Gaul was going to accept no for an answer.

“I, uh—” She noticed the way you began to angle yourself to Coriolanus. He’d fallen asleep by his monitor, in a similar fashion to you.

Her mouth pursed in mock-sympathy. “Coriolanus wants to stay. Watch over his songbird. I suggest you find someone else to wheel you back home.”

Your lips parted in surprise. A part of you wanted to protest, but you were far too tired to argue. “I can get myself home,” you told her. “Good night, Dr. Gaul.”

A creaky, amused titter fell from her throat. “Your little one is good at hiding. A shame she’s not going to make it.”

A wave of nausea rolled over you. You determinedly fixed your gaze on the ground and began to push yourself out of the academy. Volumnia watched you go with narrowed eyes. Once she was sure you were gone, she made her way to Coriolanus.

The boy had a job to do.

Bobbin’s blood was still all over his hands. Dried, now. Dark with time. Dr. Gaul stitched up the gash on his left shoulder blade—he wondered if you had been in this much pain when you woke up in the hospital. But it was different, because he was slashed by a little boy, and you fell onto a metal pipe. Coriolanus wasn’t sure which one was better.

Not that it was a competition. It was all Sejanus’ fault anyway, he concluded.

He had wanted to sprinkle bread crumbs on his dead tribute’s body. What a waste.

Once Dr. Gaul had sent him off back home with his wound tightly bound, he staggered out with a heavy chest and tear-stained cheeks.

And he clearly wasn’t thinking straight, because his feet didn’t bring him back to his own filthy, dirty, rat-infested home. He brought himself to your winged estate, gardened and manicured and polished to perfection.

This should be mine, he thought. I should have this. I deserve this.

And then, another irrational thought crossed his mind as he rang the doorbell.

It will be mine.

The doors swung open—which mildly surprised him, considering it was very late at night—and your mother peeked her head out. She eyed him with part confusion, part surprise. Then, she caught sight of the blood on his hands. The door widened to let him through.

Almost immediately when he stepped in, your mother roped him into a warm embrace. He inhaled and choked on air. And then, he dissolved into a fit of wracking sobs. She crooned and stroked her hand along the back of his head.

“What’s this, Coriolanus? Whose blood is this?”

He hiccuped and drew in a staggered breath. “It’s… mine. I got into a fight with a classmate about the Games. It got violent and bloody—Dr. Gaul fixed me up.” He emphasized a wince and gestured to the wound on his shoulder. He let your mother fuss over him, demanding to take a look at the gash. Reluctant, he unbuttoned his uniform again to let her see.

It seemed the commotion was enough to wake you up, because you had limped to the top of the grand staircase with sleepy eyes and messy hair.

Once your mother caught sight of you out of bed, she pulled away from Coriolanus to chastise you, but her words fell on deaf ears. You mumbled out your boyfriend’s name in confusion, before leaning heavily against the bannister to slowly step down, wincing with the movement.

Coriolanus was quick to move upstairs, meeting you near the top, as you had only managed to descend a handful while he jogged to you. He cupped your face first, smoothing his thumbs over your jaw the way he always did. And when you spread your arms, he just about fell into you, his nose dropping down to the junction between your neck and your shoulder. His entire form trembled with his cries, muffled into your skin.

It was as if he’d been reduced to a child all over again. Eating paste, salty with his tears of hunger.

“Coryo,” you whispered, gripping at his waist. “Coryo, please tell me what’s going on. You’re worrying me.”

He hesitantly withdrew his damp face away from your neck. “Can we… talk privately?”

With pursed lips, you looked down to your mother at the bottom of the staircase.

She cleared her throat tiredly. “I’ll leave you two be. But no funny business, understand? Y/N needs to recover.”

With a serious stare in Coriolanus’ direction, she turned and marched off to the Northern wing.

“Come on,” you told him. “Let’s go to my room.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, rubbing the space between his brows. His arm wrapped over your waist to help you up the few steps. “It’s so late, and I just barged in and interrupted your sleep—”

“Coryo, you’re covered in blood. Sleep is the last thing on my mind.”

Once in your room, you shut the door and leaned against it. Coriolanus made his way to your bed and sat on it, face buried into his hands.

“Does this have something to do with Dr. Gaul?” you asked, watching him with keen eyes.

His head snapped up and he regarded you curiously. “How’d you know?”

“She told me to leave. And all the screens were… frozen.” With slow steps, you limped across your room to sit right beside him. “Whose blood is that?”

Coriolanus was silent for a long while. So long that you wondered if he even heard your question at all.

“Don’t—don’t hate me. I need you.”

“I won’t hate you. I love you.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“Stop it, Coryo. You don’t get to decide whether I l—”

“It was Bobbin.” He effectively cut you off, rendering you speechless. “I killed him.”

You stared at him as if he’d grown another head. “The… the district eight boy?” With each passing second, your eyes grew larger and—wetter. Coriolanus had to turn away. “You were in the arena? Dr. Gaul made you… oh, Coryo.”

“Sejanus went in to see his friend.” The last word was sneered out in a rather demeaning manner. “The tributes started attacking us. I… I hit Bobbin with a rock.”

He left out the gorey details. How he kept bashing Bobbin’s head in even after his body stopped twitching. How it felt… powerful.

“It was self defense, then,” you murmured, drawing closer to brush your lips against his shoulder, just above his sutures.

It was, at first. And then it… wasn’t. Coriolanus pursed his lips.

“Bobbin… he was Wovey’s friend, I think.” Your voice wavered, and you blinked away the tears that welled up in your eyes. “I hope she’s okay.”

Coriolanus said nothing as he frowned. He didn’t like how much you cared for her, no matter how much of a hypocrite that made him. It was like Highbottom said… the kid was doomed from the very beginning.

“Are you okay?” you asked him, voice as soft as silk.

“I don’t…”

“It’s okay if you’re not. I’ll be here for you.”

“You’re too good,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re always just so… good. How do you do it?”

There was a considerable silence before you reached over to take his chin between your fingers and force him to look at you. “I’m just trying my best. And you are, too. Don’t discredit yourself, Coriolanus. You’re good for me. You always will be.”

His pale eyes flickered. Then, he kissed you. Slow and soft, begging for more but—you pulled away with a hum before he could press further against you.

A distinct coldness fell over his expression. “You can’t tell anyone what I told you. About Bobbin.”

You studied him for a few seconds. Watched the way he folded into himself with such caution. Compartmentalize and shield the most ugly parts of himself away from you. It was a defense mechanism of sorts. You knew it all too well, and narrowed your eyes at him.

“Why do you always think that I’ll go about and tell the world everything you say to me? Do you not trust me?”

He sucked in a shuddering breath. “I do. I do, of course I do. You just—you know everything there is to know. You can destroy me completely, and it’ll be my fault because I let you in—because I let myself fall in love with you.”

Your features twisted into one of shock. “Is that what you think? That I’m seeking to destroy you? Bring you down? What—Coriolanus, why would I do that? Do you hear yourself? How many times do I have to say that I love you until you realize that I mean it?”

“You can love me and still betray me. They’re not mutually exclusive.” There was a terse silence that stretched thick between the two of you like taffy. His brows furrowed together and he stared angrily down at the ground as he frustratedly worked his jaw. “I’m not saying you will betray me. I’m saying you could. And that… that terrifies me.”

“I won’t. You said it yourself, remember? I’m tethered to you. I’m an accomplice—I know too much,” you said, exasperated. “But there is nothing I want to take from you. I gain nothing from stabbing you in the back. I just—I want for us to be a normal fucking couple!”

Coriolanus hung his head. With another sharp breath, he nodded several times, as if he was snapping himself out of his own thoughts. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I trust you. I’m sorry.”

When your countenance softened inexplicably, Coriolanus let himself slowly tear his walls of paranoia back down. His hands returned to you then, far more hesitantly cradling your face, gripping your hips, squeezing your thighs as he kissed you. It was familiar and comforting, yet simultaneously all too much.

“Will you stay until I fall asleep?” you panted into the kiss, trying to break away as your lungs screamed for air. “I miss you. It’s been so long since we just… existed alone together.”

He nodded—because how could he say no to you?—and helped you settle back onto the bed. Let you hold onto him, let you trace mindless shapes into his arm. Watched as your eyes fluttered shut and you fell back into what looked like a restful sleep. Envy curled within the confines of his chest. Sleep graced you so easily. Why did everything come to you so easily?

Nonetheless, he dipped forward to brush his lips against your temple, before gingerly pulling away. You stirred with the jostling, but stayed deep asleep. With that, Coriolanus made his way out of your room, clicking the door shut as softly as he could, and descended down the stairs. He left your house with a heavy chest and a throbbing shoulder.

Early the next morning, your mother came to the academy with you to watch the end of the Hunger Games—and to be there for moral support, she’d told you. She wheeled you in with a bright smile, greeting all the staring students with a friendly confidence. Once she brought you in front of the very same monitor as yesterday, she kissed the top of your head before flitting away to speak with Lucky, who was all smiles and charm. You overheard him saying that he was confident the games would come to a close soon. Your mother said something in reply, but their voices were drowned out by the swell of students entering the theater.

Coriolanus walked in only a few minutes after you, Tigris on his arm. The two of them made their way to you—Coryo was stone-faced, looking more tired than ever. Tigris appeared more worried than anything, but she was just about glowing in her new pink dress, all sharp angles and pristine fabric.

“You look beautiful,” you told her genuinely once she drew closer to you and took both your hands in hers. “I love your outfit. The color suits you.”

“Thank you,” she replied, flushing a pleased rouge hue. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been impaled by a metal pipe,” you told her with a slight grimace. “But, you know… no better way to fix that than to watch children kill themselves through a screen.”

The two cousins laughed dryly at your sarcasm. Tigris then enthusiastically told you that the dress she was making for you was ready—and you grinned and told her you were incredibly excited to come see it. With that, she nodded and left to take her seat amongst the stands, wishing the two of you good luck.

Once she was gone, Coriolanus reached out to grasp your shoulder. Your talk with him last night plagued him for hours and hours when he should’ve been asleep.

“Did you sleep well?” you asked him, leaning into his touch when he brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “You look tired, Coryo.”

A wry smile. “Slept like a baby.”

It was a lie, and you knew it. You frown-smiled at him nonetheless.

He bent at the waist, tilted your face up to meet his, and kissed you square on the lips. Some of the students in the stand wolf-whistled, and it felt distinctly like Coriolanus was putting on a show for them, and for the cameras. And you were, well—you were an unwilling actor.

When he pulled away, he smiled at you and gestured to his seat in the corner. “Whatever happens, I’ll be right there.”

“Okay,” you murmured. “Likewise.”

Coriolanus found himself wondering if you were hiding something from him. Why did it feel like you were drawing yourself away? Were you planning on sabotaging him?

Before he could dwell on it anymore, you gently nudged him off, as Lucky was beginning his opening remarks once again. He talked about the mystery behind Bobbin’s death (sending a cold tremor up Coriolanus’ spine), but moved on rather quickly to the stats board.

The few remaining mentors settled down and the rest of the students in the stands quieted to watch the games continue.

Not fifteen minutes later, commotion started brewing between Jessup and Lucy Gray. It was hisses and twitches from the boy at first, but then grew into explosive anger and panicked aggressiveness. Frightened, Lucy Gray began to doggedly run away from her friend, crawling out of the rubble-strewn tunnels and back into the main arena.

“Something’s wrong,” Lysistrata, Jesssup’s mentor, said. “He wouldn’t turn on her like this.”

You narrowed your eyes at the hazy screen. There seemed to be foam collecting at the corners of Jessup’s mouth as he chased after Lucy Gray, demanding to know what she’s done to him. The hazy memory of Lucy Gray at the zoo mentioning a bat bite resurfaced into your mind.

“It’s rabies,” you told the two. “The foam in his mouth. He’s got rabies—the bat bite in the train, remember?”

Coriolanus and Lysistrata’s eyes both widened.

“The same district folding in on itself!” Lucky announced into the microphone, and began rattling off some more unnecessary commentary.

“Send him water!” Coryo demanded Lyssie.

“What?” she asked, watching in horror as her tribute tried to make a grab for Lucy Gray, but she ducked away just in time.

Impatient, Coriolanus stood up and leaned over her desk with gritted teeth. “Remember the posters in the war? Rabies—it makes you afraid of water. Send him a drone!”

Lyssie’s mouth opened and closed. “That’ll scare him!”

“Yes,” he said, tapping on her monitor. “It’ll get him away from her. Jessup is done. And you’re the only one that can get it right to him.”

With a tight frown, Lysistrata reached forward to order a water drone. Lucky was preening with all the action.

“Thank you,” Coriolanus breathed out once her order processed through.

“Nothing to be proud of,” she said, scowling at the screen.

Lucy Gray was begging for her friend to snap out of it as she climbed up a fallen stone pillar, and screamed when a water drone came whizzing right past her ear, crashing into Jessup. Glass went flying every which way. The water had done its job scaring him—Jessup yelled and tittered with the sudden force. He fell backward and toppled right off the pillar. His body made a sickening crack as it came in contact with the ground. The audience exploded into cheers.

Horrified, Lucy Gray slid down the pillar after her barely-alive friend, hands shaking. A terrible sense of guilt washed over you.

“Jessup?” she asked, shaking his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere. Okay? You watched over me, now I’m watching over you. Sleep now, Jessup. Sleep.”

Jessup’s death was slow and painful. Lyssie sent a bitter glance towards Coriolanus, before storming off.

But the horrors weren’t yet over for Lucy Gray—Coral and her pack appeared from behind a large pile of rubble, cornering her like coyotes would a lamb. They sneered and jeered at her.

You turned to look at Coriolanus, seeing his face crumple with desperation. His eyes flickered to you for a brief moment.

“Use your donations!” you called over. “She won’t fight, Coryo. You know that!”

With a frantic nod, Coriolanus snapped his gaze back to his monitor, and hurriedly pressed down on eight drones of water for his tribute.

“Mentors allying together in such troubling times!” Lucky exclaimed, rubbing his hands together. “Will it be enough to save the songbird?”

The little machines whirred into the arena at alarming high speeds, and crashed into the unassuming tributes surrounding Lucy Gray. She ducked and covered her head with shaking hands as water and glass and metal parts flew every which way.

“Hey!” one of the mentors exclaimed. “You can’t attack the tributes!”

“I’m just sending water,” Coriolanus retorted back, looking extremely relieved. Then, he looked back at you, and mouthed, thank you.

Taking advantage of the knocked down tributes, Lucy Gray rushed forward, grabbed a glass of water that remained miraculously unshattered, and ran off to hide behind another fallen pillar. You remembered that Coriolanus had given her rat poison—a part of you wanted her to use it to survive, and the other part of you hoped she wouldn’t ever touch it in fear of people finding out about Coriolanus cheating. That would spell the end of him.

Coral and her pack roused with groans and aches. They moaned about losing Lucy Gray, before setting their sights on Lamina and pursuing after her. It was a shame to watch her go, you thought, remembering the kindness she did for Marcus. She was stabbed in the abdomen (reminding you of your own bound bandages), and fell into a crumpled heap beside her district-mate.

While they were all busy going after her, one of the smaller screens caught Lucy Gray appearing back from behind the rubble, placing the full water bottle back on the ground. She hurriedly reached over to dump water out of any of the other bottles that hadn’t broken.

Lucy Gray managed to escape Coral just as she began to notice what she was doing, darting up some broken stairs and into a duct, latching it shut so they wouldn’t be able to follow her in. Lucky made a sullen comment about how there were no cameras set up inside there.

Coral and the pack retreated back down to survey all the water Lucy Gray had dumped out, save for the one single bottle. You wondered if said bottle was filled with rat poison, by any chance.

Since you had your gaze focused on one of the smaller screens, you hadn’t even noticed little Wovey emerging from a row of seats not too far away from where Lucy Gray was hiding inside the duct.

Your eyes frantically turned to the main screen when one of the pack members exclaimed, “It’s Wovey!”

“No, no…” you muttered, leaning forward in your wheelchair, ignoring the painful sting in your side. Wovey was quick to disappear back under the seats, scampering between rows and small gaps under fallen rocks so that they couldn’t follow after her. Twisted relief clawed at your chest and you heaved for breath when they muttered defeat and decided to go back down to the ground. The group began to dissolve into an argument, which thankfully kept them otherwise occupied from going back to hunt after other tributes. To none of your surprise, Coral ended up stabbing Mizzen right in the chest.

“And who do we have here?” said Lucky when the main screen changed to show a coughing girl emerging from her hiding place. “Ah! It’s Ill Dill. Tuberculosis on legs.”

Dill staggered towards the water bottle. Uncapped it and drank a few small mouthfuls. She coughed and wheezed. Lied down slowly, chest still rattling with coughs. It had to be poisoned, you concluded. To die right after taking that drink… it was far too much of a coincidence. Lucy Gray must have used the poison. You didn’t dare chance a glance back at Coriolanus, afraid you’d see cruel victory in his eyes.

Reaper ran out a minute later, calling out for Dill as he rushed to her. “Dill? Hey, what happened? Dill! Dill, wake up!”

And when he realized his district-mate was dead… Reaper let out a guttural scream. It echoed and ricocheted around the arena for everyone to hear. You frowned and tucked your arms closer to your sides.

To your surprise, Reaper began to move the dead tributes’ bodies to where Marcus and Lamina were. He laid each of them carefully beside one another. Fixed their positions and brushed the dirt away from their face. Dill first, then Mizzen. Then Bobbin by the entrance—to which none of the other mentors knew who killed except Coriolanus and… you.

Reaper tore down the long Panem flag hanging from the arena’s wall. The students burst into boos and derogatory yells. He dragged it over to the makeshift morgue and draped the dusty fabric over the corpses.

There was a lump in your throat as you watched him stand over the bodies he had so meticulously arranged. He gave the tributes one last shred of dignity when the Capitol—you included—had so monstrously stripped every bit of it away. You twisted in your chair to look at your mother in the stands. She had a hand over her mouth as she watched on, looking every bit as choked up as you.

Reaper gazed straight into one of the cameras and spread his arms. “Are you gonna punish me now?” he asked. “ARE YOU GOING TO PUNISH ME N—”

His yells were suddenly cut off by a breaking news announcement. They still echoed about the theater, and you still could hear Reaper’s strong voice in your head.

Volumnia Gaul sat stiff and menacing on the large screen, her single, beady blue eye seemingly ablaze with a cold fury.

“Capitol citizens, I’m afraid I must interrupt our Games to announce a tragic loss. One that affects us all. Felix Ravinstill, son of our beloved president, has this morning succumbed to his injuries sustained in the rebel bombing.” The screen changed to display a horrifyingly graphic image of Felix’s dead body covered in bruises and unhealed gashes. This was met with gasps and cries from the crowd. “Out there in the districts… they will be celebrating this young boy’s death as a triumph. I will not allow my Games to give our enemy such victory. I swear to you, here and now, before the sun goes down tonight, a rainbow of destruction will engulf our arena. Even if it means there’s to be no victor in these Games!”

Scandalized murmurs spread throughout the theater.

Your lips parted with shock. What was the point in having the Hunger Games without a victor? You turned to look at Coriolanus, who was looking every bit as distraught as you.

A rainbow of destruction, Gaul had said. He knew exactly what that meant. With a tight expression, he sat up and ran out of the theater. You watched him go with utter confusion, calling out his name, but your voice was drowned out over the sea of upset students.

Where was he going? To plea his case with Dr. Gaul or Highbottom? Or… no, he’d told you about the snake muttations Gaul had in her lab—while you were drowsy and delirious with pain, but you could remember it faintly—how they were rainbow in color, fast as lightning as they struck down Clemmie. Did that mean those snakes were going to be set loose in the arena?

Your heart skipped a beat. Wovey could hide from the other tributes, sure, but small, fast, and most likely deadly snakes? She wouldn’t stand a chance.

And what of Lucy Gray? What was Coriolanus planning on doing for her?

Fifteen minutes later, Coriolanus came running back in, sweaty and breathless. Just in time, because Coral and her pack were beginning to close in on Lucy Gray, stabbing spears through the vent flap. One of the boys down below the ducts began to cough and sputter, not in an unsimilar fashion to Dill, before collapsing down to the ground with a shudder, blood pouring out of his nose.

Rat poison. You were sure of it.

They stabbed at the duct some more until it buckled and broke under her weight, and she came crashing down. Hurriedly, Lucy Gray stumbled up to her feet, climbed over the dead body, and ran as fast as she could away from Coral. They were hot on her tail. Everyone watched with bated breath.

And then—the loud whirring of a carrier came descending down the center of the arena. A large, blackened cylindrical tank was being lowered into the center through the broken rooftop. You let out a shaky breath of petrification. Inside must’ve been the snake muttations Coriolanus told you about.

The few remaining tributes stared at the tank with wide eyes, too stunned to move.

“I’d wager that that is going to be no good.” Lucky smiled as he stared at the screen. “But wouldn’t it be fun if it was candy?”

Both the arena and the theater lapsed into utter silence.

Until—until little Wovey peered her head up from the seats. She’s so frail, was your first thought. Slowly, she began to climb out of the rows and hopped down broken pieces of stone to get back to the ground.

“Wovey—” you found yourself saying aloud. Many eyes drew to you. “No, no, no…”

You watched as the little girl walked towards the large black tank with wide eyes. She sniffled and wiped her nose with the back of her grimy hand. Reaper was warning Wovey to keep away, but the little girl was still moving closer.

“Is it over?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Can we go home? Please…”

“Fuck! Fu—shit, fuck! No, Wovey!” you frantically yelled as if she could hear you. Desperate to get her to stop going towards the tank, you looked down at your monitor.

Not many donations…

But enough to send a drone.

Maybe if you sent food—it’d distract her. Keep her away.

And so you began placing an order for a food drone, much to Lucky’s commentary delight. With shaking hands, you pressed confirm.

But there was one thing you hadn’t considered.

You hadn’t considered the drone coming in from directly in front of Wovey—with the tank right in its way. A whizz, a blur of silver metal, and murmurs of shock from the crowd. The machine drove itself against the glass tank and broke apart into a thousand pieces. Small red apples went flying every which way. Wovey stopped in her tracks for a moment.

It was a temporary relief.

A crack formed in the tank. And then—another splinter within the glass. And another, and another, and another. They formed a terrible sort of spider web.

“No,” you whispered, lips quivering. It was all your fault. “Oh, no.”

With that, the glass gave way to its fractures, and burst apart in a cascade of glittering shards. The snakes came tumbling out just as Dr. Gaul had said: a rainbow of destruction. They took down Wovey first as she screamed, slithering over her small body until you saw no part of her left. You had fallen silent, but your entire body ached as you violently shut your eyes, eliciting a hot tear to streak down your cheek.

“Not candy! Down goes Wovey!” Lucky announced, though he winced with an apologetic glance in your direction. “Sorry, Y/N.”

The rest of the snakes were quick to pick off Coral’s pack, and then Coral herself, who cried out that all those lives she took… they couldn’t have been for nothing.

They slithered around Reaper, who sat strongly by the pile of bodies he had arranged. He died alongside them as the serpents closed around his throat.

And that just left Lucy Gray.

“All colors lead to Gray!” Lucky announced, overly pleased with his wording.

Coriolanus smiled, victorious. “She’s—she’s won. It’s over. She’s won! Let her out!”

“Afraid that’s not your call to make, Mr. Snow,” said Lucky. He pointed over to Dr. Gaul, who was watching from the theater’s stands with crossed arms.

The students all murmured and gasped. Coriolanus looked around helplessly.

“Dr. Gaul, she’s won!” he asserted. “It’s over, let her out!”

Volumnia stared at the blonde boy with narrowed eyes, but said nothing.

And then… Lucy Gray began to sing as the snakes slithered their way to her. They coiled over her ankles and into the ruffles of her dress. Over her arms and around her stomach. Along her back and draped on her shoulders. She sang and sang, her voice strong despite the itchy dryness in her throat.

“Why aren’t they attacking her?” Festus Creed demanded.

Coriolanus set his jaw. “Must be the singing. It’s calming them.”

“She can’t sing forever,” he replied with an upturned nose.

Everyone in the audience watched, enraptured, as Lucy Gray sang her heart out, wrapped in iridescent snakes. You let out a shaky exhale, and another tear slipped down your face. Watching Wovey go was one thing—you didn’t want to watch Lucy Gray die, as well.

Anger rose in your throat.

You turned your wheelchair away from the screen—away from your damned monitor. It was your fault Wovey was dead. You wouldn’t watch Lucy Gray die, too.

“LET HER OUT!” you screamed at Dr. Gaul. Coriolanus flinched and stared at you with wonder, along with the rest of the student body. You bared your teeth in a pained snarl, and you let the tears freely fall. They were scalding against your skin, along with the multiple cameras that had turned right to you. “She won. Who’s going to donate to your Games next year if they know you’ll just kill their victor off? Let her out, Gaul!”

“Dr. Gaul, please,” Coriolanus pleaded, nodding at your words. “Let her out.”

“Get her out!” Tigris chimed along. Your mother voiced the same sentiment a second later, her face shining at you with pride.

One by one, students began yelling at Dr. Gaul to get Lucy Gray out of the arena until practically everyone was chanting along.

“Nobody’s going to watch your Games without a victor!” Snow told her over the swell of voices.

With a sharp scowl, she raised her hand. Almost immediately, the crowd fell into silence.

“Get her out,” she quietly grumbled to one of her assistants.

Lucky clapped and announced excitedly, “She’s won! Lucy Gray has won! Coriolanus Snow is the winner of the 10th annual Hunger Games!”

Victory music began playing throughout the theater—trumpets and drums and bells echoing into his ears as the students rushed down from their seats to congratulate him. Shaking his hand, slapping at his back, ruffling his hair. Tigris was at the front of it all, smiling at him so wide it was a wonder her face didn’t split into two. She wrapped him into a warm hug and he held her tight, laughing into her shoulder as the weight of realization fell against him.

He’d won.

Once he pulled away from his cousin, he pushed through the packed crowd to get to you. You were on your feet already, though your weight was leaning heavily against one of the handles of your wheelchair. You were positively overwhelmed by all the commotion around you.

He held your face with both his hands and kissed you in front of everyone. The cheers grew louder and louder, and Snow pulled away smiling wider than he ever remembered smiling before.

But when he looked at you again—truly looked at you—there were still tears spilling from your eyes. They didn’t look quite like tears of joy, either.

“She was thirteen,” you sobbed, curling against him. “Coryo, she was thirteen. It was my fault. My fault.”

Caught up in his own victory, he’d very nearly forgotten who you were talking about. It took him another second to realize that you were crying over Wovey. Irritation clawed at his chest and he frowned at you. You should’ve been congratulating him—not thinking about your silly dead tribute. What were you expecting? Hadn’t you known this was coming?

Nonetheless, he held you to his chest with empty words of comfort murmured into your ears, rubbing a palm up and down your back in a placating manner. He kissed your forehead and the crowd swooned with the romance of it all.

You jerked away from Coriolanus when you felt a distinct pain shoot up your stomach. You looked down, noting the darker red blotch in your uniform.

It seemed like you’d bled through your bandages again.

taglist: @nicksolemnlyswears, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @marjorieisreading, @emlovesya, @dallaav, @sillyskeletonpatrolghost, @sunshine-stars-12, @intoomanyfandom-s, @eclipixels, @unclecrunkle, @wotcherpeak, @dangelnleif, @freyafriggafrey, @scaraslover, @tiaamberxx, @dracuno, @c-losur3, @ashy-kit, @innercreationflower, @spear-bearing-bi-witch, @mymadokamagica, @24kmar, @cowboylikerhian, @ireallydontcareanymorebrooo, @curled-hair-red-lips, @har-rison-s, @aoi-targaryen

#coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fluff #coriolanus snow x you #hunger games fanfiction #coriolanus snow drabbles #tbosas fanfiction #tbosas x reader #young!coriolanus snow x reader #young!coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow angst #coriolanus snow smut

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 month ago

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I have observed several types of fic writers, and so for kicks and giggles, here they all are. Each of them scares me for different reasons.

The Prepared And Ready To Publish™:

Several documents dedicated to worldbuilding, planning, cross referencing, character lists & traits, plot twists, and then the actual fic document.

Dedicated to the max to creating a rich world. Probably knows more about the niche thing than you ever will. 100% could have written a thesis and chose to do fic instead (or did both at the same time).

Created a masterpiece and promptly vanished off the face of creation before coming back in with another banger to crush souls and save fandoms.

Their arrival is akin to the birth of a new era because they never fail to somehow make a niche ship popular, make a headcanon fanon, or otherwise give so much depth and interest to a character or setting that whatever they have devised is largely accepted as gospel by their readers.

They either use a high end writing program or wordpad. There is no in-between.

Mysterious. Very mysterious. Reasons for this mysteriousness vary between fics and authors.

100000/10 would be friends with them if I could. Legendary writers. But also they scare me because ??? What void offered you such power ?????

The Baby Writer:

All vibes and loosely strung plots.

It may not make the most sense, but good gracious the dedication is there.

Notable lack of comprehension when it comes to characters and places, but it's bad form to not leave a kudo because it takes guts to post anything in fandom.

They are still figuring things out and their grammar or formatting (possibly both) is probably a mess, but they've put heart into their work.

Sweetest rays of sunshine who want to be involved and are eager to learn the ropes.

The fandom's young ward or despised new arrival (depends entirely on fandom popularity and age).

8/10 would happily offer advice to them. Just can't read their work for too long without wanting to throw it into grammarly. The fear factor comes in the form of the miraculous misuse of fandom terminology. (Yeah it's tough bud, the fanon is wild. But goodness that term/canon word does NOT mean what you think it does.)

The Smut For Your Soul:

Meticulously plans the smut with all the loving care of a sculptor.

Somehow plot got involved.

Miraculously, they managed to not include an iota of plot and it has somehow managed to work.

Headcanons abound and cuteness and or angst lurks merrily behind every corner.

The tags mean everything and nothing at the same time. They are but faint guides to the fae wilds ahead. Tread lightly.

Has a mountain of unfinished WIPs that will follow them to the grave or emerge ten years after conception to grace whatever fandom spawned the idea.

The fandom thanks them for their service, although often that praise is late or hits like a freight train.

???/10 I personally avoid smut but I have friends who write it so it really depends. Terrifying because you never know who falls into this role of writer. It could be anyone. Normalcy is a mask poorly adorned for the sake of conforming to The Great Machine.

The Angst Lord:

Has a million slightly different ways to hurt their blorbo. Each are somehow more horrifying than the next.

The embodiment of the iceburg videos seen all over the net. Ask one question and you shall unravel and scheme of torment so great you shall regret having dared to speak up.

Has dozens of WIPs or unwritten ideas that they claim they will return to.

They are controlled by passion and emotion and can and will insert their own complicated situation into a fic.

Almost nothing is off limits.

Arrives to the fandom ready to brawl and somehow ends up respected or feared. They often stare in bafflement as they end up unscathed and watch angry comments fly toward the arguably innocent shippers.

Generally some of the nicest people who happen to enjoy inflicting The Horrors upon someone fictional.

'10/10 would befriend and promptly regard like a wild racoon. Offerings of angsty ideas yield delightful commentary. But also I need to prepare myself for anything they say because O U C H my SOUL.

The General Writer:

Fluff, cuteness, possibly a delightful touch of angst and pure unbridled creative simplicity.

They may not have the most brutal or soul wrenching tale, but they always manage to write something that someone, somewhere, desperately needs.

Devastatingly underrated and deserves far more praise for their contributions to the fandom.

Produces some of the softest of scenes and the most touching of interactions between characters in a contained, careful crafted, tale.

Introducing new ships or family dynamics in such a tasteful manner that brain chemistry can easily be altered.

Arrives to the fandom as a lurker and shows their appreciation through their work. Oftentimes, they are very quiet and go unnoticed.

INFINITE/10 Love these writers, honestly a gift to fandom. The sheer level of dedication to producing fluff is astounding and scary all at once.

The OC X Canon:

Has so many ships and headcanons that it's astounding.

The lore development rivals IDW and Lost Light combined. All the kudos to them for putting their souls into their characters.

The dedication is mind boggling.

They put up with so much crap they could be in MMA Wrestling if the verbal assaults translated into physical strength.

Has so many adjustments to lore and whole AUs devoted specifically to creating a perfect world.

Skilled in the extreme (or not) at integrating their ocs into canon.

Arrives to the fandom not intending to make ocs. Leaves with seventeen leashes for their new abominable creations. Is loved or hated by literally everyone, sometimes for no reason.

6/10 perfectly lovely people but very niche in their interest and thus not everyone's cup of tea. Scary because that level of sheer willpower is meant for demi-gods.

There are more types of writers, but these feel like the big overarching ones. Which kind of writer are you? :D

#fic writer #fanfic writing #types of writers #fanfic stuff #lets try some writing mumbles

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renshengs · 4 days ago

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i just think if you are going to get really passionate about any deeply cultural show with distinctive ethnic names, and you are going to be so passionate about it, in fact, that you are going to consistently post about it in a public space for other people to see and/or you're going to write fanfiction about it, then you should at least make an effort to correctly spell the characters' names and know how to refer to them.

while fandom spaces are indeed for your personal enjoyment, there is a willful ignorance in the way a lot of people navigate fandoms surrounding media that is more culturally alien to them that reflects their subconscious unwillingness to take these cultural differences and intricacies into consideration. in my post's case, as i am chinese and am frequently in fandoms for chinese media, i can only speak on the fandom etiquette around names from shows that are generally more popular in english-speaking circles, like word of honor, the untamed, etc. and to be completely straightforward i think the name and terminology butchering has been pretty bad with some fandoms and absolutely unbearable in others.

"but i'm bad with names/i'm bad at spelling!" i can empathize. but i think making excuses is also a terribly avoidant thing to do. type with more care. find a method that works for you. the cultural context is crucial to the show and its characters; why are you here if you don't care about it? and yes, not paying mind to name usage is absolutely an ignorant thing to do, even if you are doing it unintentionally. obviously, spelling a name wrong does not indicate you are someone with that kind of prejudice, but not making any effort to get it right is irresponsible and insensitive, especially considering that native english speakers in the west have an extensive history of being dismissive and rude toward ethnic names, chinese ones included.

lastly, because this website has a victim complex that almost rivals twitter's:

the aim of this post isn't to imply that anyone who misuses or misspells names are bad people who should be witchhunted and torn apart (nor am i going to do that, which is why i am making a post about it), or that people who have dyslexia and other disability issues with reading & spelling accurately just need to "get better" (see: "find a method that works for you"). typos are not morally wrong & my point is not to shame anyone. i just hope people can find it in themselves to reevaluate their own stubbornness and just—learn to tread with more care. to treat these stories and their characters with the consideration that they already give to the media they're most familiar with, and to approach the cultural learning curve with willingness, or else just don't engage with such things at all if you are not able to understand that to enjoy them fully and deeply requires you to actually interact with the cultural context in which they were created.

#DISCLAIMER this is not about making typos oh my god #it’s about willfully not making any effort to you know. Engage with stories on a cultural level #okay that's my discourse post of the year i'm done #sheng says stuff #cdramas #the untamed #word of honor #love between fairy and devil #fangs of fortune

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writingforatwistedworld · 2 years ago

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If requests are still open (and if it is within the rules) may I request a shot for the Reader who casually refers to TWST guy as her "dream boyfriend" on a daily puzzle? For self-aware!Au and Leona/Jsmil/Riddle if possible? Thank you.

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, death, murder, violence, unhealthy relationship, implied family problems, threats

Riddle Rosehearts/Leona Kingscholar/Jamil Viper-Referring to them as your “dream partner”

Ah yes, cricket. The sport that the Queen of Hears loved so dearly and was the reason why many flamingos and hedgehogs probably planned a rebellion against humans

But here he was, Riddle Rosehearts himself, fueling that fire of hatered of his supposedly feathery friends when he felt the presence of the Overseer again

What a surprise, but he was happy none the less

Playing a perfect game because if he didn’t there was no way he could be worthy of your attention

And then you said those words

Riddles flamingo was this close to going bananas as it felt his grip getting uncomfortably tight around its’ legs

Getting called your dream partner… has he ascended to heaven?

And it didn’t stop there, the next few days you continued to fo that

You better believe me when I tell you that everyone was almost screaming in fear when he was about to punish someone only for him to freeze and stare with glassy eyes onto the distance

Mhm, you said it… only that you saw him on your home screen instead of telling a student that it was “off with his head”

But what if one day you didn’t want him anymore? What if you found someone else whom you thought was better than him?

That was the moment he started to turn into his old self

Only that he didn’t act like this because of his mother but because he thought that if he followed your roles perfectly you wouldn’t divert your attention to someone else

Dark days, my friend. Dark days…

Sometimes though even he misuses them, claiming that someone did something wrong whenever he feels threatened

Never mind that one time when something inside of him snapped and Trey had to wash suspiciously red clothing

Leona isn’t someone who desperately wants to be in a relationship but if you were to ask...

So here he is, laying like most of his free time in the greenhouse, sleeping away...

And it would have been a normal day if it weren’t for you, suddenly appearing as if you had planned to give him a heart attack

They said this wasn’t a horror game… tell that to Leona who is now clutching his chest from the jumpscare of you appearing

So, the housecat extravagant over there is expecting your visit to play out like usual, make students study… making Deuce nearly break his neck during flying lessons

What he did not expect though was you suddenly going all “Awww I like him so much!”

Well… apparently he is a heck of a fresh snack since you are suddenly like “He my dream partner!”

Charming. Absolutely charming. And absolutely not making him go into cardiac arrest for a minute

Leona thought this would be a one-time tingy but no. You are persistently trying to make him loose every single one of his nine lives

You repeat it. And repeat it. And repeat it. And… can someone help Leona over there. I’m starting to think those bad jokes are slowly turning into reality

Suddenly sleepy lion who doesn’t take care of himself is high fashion. Is Vil seething? Maybe but what I can guarantee you is that he plans to turn Sunset Savannahs second prince into a scarf

Malleus over there also looks like he might implode any moment but we don’t talk about the end of the world here… at least not now

Leona is not dangerous because he is very active but because he has his way with words and if that doesn’t work then he can literally grind people to dust… all I am saying is that his magic worked on Ruggie

So whenever he sees someone getting close to him so that they can also get close to you then they better be prepared for intimidation tactics which Lilia hadn’t seen since the war and they will definitely might end up with a few healthy bones less… especially in the neck are but this is a sunny side blog! We- we don’t talk about dark stuf here!

And yes, of course, this is bad for his ego but Leona knows that him changing in any way that is a bit more egoistical will probably end up in a negative way

After all, not even he is sure what he would do would you stop to refer him as someone you consider as husbando material

Uh… Jamil… poor in the shadow standing Jamil…

Now this is someone I can definitely assure you thinks he has absolutely no chance with you

Although that changed after his overblot, with him finally getting a good session of screaming at Kalim his self-esteem was definitely in better waters

So here he is, still a servant but at least he got his problems off of his soul

Which ends up with him dreaming. Would a kind and all-knowing soul like yourself even look at him? If yes, how would it be?

One day, that one darn day, you came and did what you ususally did

Nothing special, nothing out of the ordinary, just some guidance

And then he feels your attention on him, his body going into “plank-mode” as he started to become nervous

All the years of serving someone like the Asim family was not able to prepare him for you

And then he is suddenly perfect boyfriend material

What’s even funnier is that he was puring Kalim a drink and at your words he gave the young heir an unvoluntary shower

Huh? The incense has probably gotten to his head, he thought whilst carrying food over to Kalim but then you started to squeal about him again and… I know, what a waste of good food.

When you repeat it every day his self esteem gets even better day by day, you repeating yourself on a daily basis

But what if someone were to take this away from him? What if some lowly insect were to question his position

Jamil can be frightening. Not the normal kind tough. No. Frighting frighting

SUdddenly that students’ social life is ruined because he did something horrible, even his family can’t look him into the eyes. WHat Jamil is always alone to those recently violent becoming people? Nah, that must be wrong, right?

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gingernut1314 · 1 month ago

Text

Pleasure Doing Business With You ch. 5

Toji Fushiguro x F!Reader

Summary: You convince Toji to take a shower with the promise of lunch and sweet treats.

Warnings: pre-star plasma vessel, reader is the cousin of Mamaugro, reader is Tsumiki's mom, Tsumiki and Magumi are cousins, gendered terms, grief/mourning, misuse of alcohol

Word Count: 3.1K

Tag list: @sordidmusings @lostfirefly @needsleep3000 @onebatch--twobatch

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The store wasn’t too far of a walk, but a walk it had to be seeing as you had yet to locate Megumi’s car seat--if he had one. You had stopped by your car, grabbed out the light pink baby wrap carrier you had thankfully kept after Tsumiki had grown out of it, strapped Megumi to your chest, and went about doing your shopping.

You had bought Tsumiki a tamago sando to munch as you shopped to keep her from exploding from hunger. You bought all essential cleaning supplies, things you would need to make quick meals, and a wagon so that you wouldn’t have to lung all the groceries back.

It took you about an hour to get all your shopping done, Tsumiki now passed out in the wagon as you pulled it back towards the filthy townhome. Megumi had also fallen asleep, his usually grumpy face all soft and peaceful. You did a quick stop back at your car to load as much as you could into the wagon without crushing your daughter before finally making it back.

You went about bringing everything into the home, putting it by the door so that it wouldn’t be in the way of your cleaning.

Toji was nowhere in sight and definitely not in the shower as you had asked him. It pissed you off but gave you room to set up a little play area for Megumi and Tsumiki in the living room without worrying about the man.

You set rules with your daughter about playing with the baby before starting on cleaning.

It was bad.

So much worse than you had originally thought.

You wanted to vomit at all the sights and smells that were bombarding your senses, but you pressed on after opening all the windows in the downstairs area.

You took a pause to feed Megumi and gave Tsumiki a snack before going back at it.

You tackled the fridge next only to find it was as bad as you had imagined and the freezer did in fact hold pouches of breastmilk, expiration dates marked in black Sharpie. Marked in handwriting you recognized instantly to be your cousins.

You debated for a long time whether you would keep it. It would be good for Megumi…the best for him but--but the idea of you going about the process of prepping it made a painfully hollow feeling fill your chest.

It was thrown into one of the large trash bags to be forgotten about.

It took you an hour--almost two to clean the whole kitchen. There were still dishes that needed to get run through the dishwasher, but other than that everything sparkled. You went about putting away all the groceries you had bought before putting Megumi and Tsumiki down for a nap.

As you came back down the stairs, you found Toji trudging through the door. He looked--

“Are you--tell me you aren’t drunk.” You came to a stop at the bottom of the stairs to watch him wander over, Toji rubbing his face as if he was exhausted.

“I’m not.” He sounded annoyed, like your concern wasn’t valid. You watched in disbelief as he pulled his hands from his flushed face and smirked down at you as he came to a pause before you.

God, why was he so tall? It only made you more mad.

“Maybe I am.” You huffed, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “Hey,” He elongated the word as he pulled closer to you. You felt your ankles hit the bottom step when you tried to back up, remembering what had happened the last time he was drunk and this close. “You said you wouldn’t get me beer. I had to take matters into my own hands.” He gave a huff of his own, leaning down so that he could look directly into your eyes.

You felt your heart begin to beat rapidly in your chest, your grip around yourself growing near bruising.

“I didn’t because of this.” Your words came out weaker than you should have allowed. “What if I had gotten beer? Hum?” Toji’s hazy eyes gleaned in humor.

“Well then, I would be inclined to do a trick for you. I am a good boy after all.” His voice grew deeper, nearly shaking through your rib cage. Those damn eyes of his scanned you over like he was picking out the best place to grab hold of you. And his smell--it was too strange, too dark, too wild. It almost possessed your body with its allure.

“Stop.” You snapped, your arms tightening further. You wanted to curl in on yourself, but you kept tall.

Green eyes fluttered back up to your own eyes, that damn smirk still on his lips. He found this funny. He found all this so funny and it made you want to slap him to get rid of that damn smirk.

“Will you take a shower?”

“Will I get lunch?” You gave him a simple nod. He nodded back, moving past you as he shuffled up the stairs to disappear into the bathroom just at the top of them. As you watched him go, your hand ran up your arm and collarbone to find rest over your mouth to muffle the shaky breath you had been keeping back.

What the fuck were you going to do about him?

He couldn’t keep coming back slobby drunk.

He couldn’t keep--his eyes. They needed to keep off you. He needed to stay away from you.

You tried to shove all thoughts of the man out of your mind as you went about making everyone lunch. You had decided to make the sandwich the lady who you had once lived across the hall from taught you to make. They were tasty and dirt cheap. A win, win in your books. They soon become you and Tsumiki’s favorite meal.

You wondered if Toji would enjoy them…but then you assumed he probably liked anything he could get his hands on.

You wrapped a sandwich up for Tsumiki to eat when she woke up, placing it in the freshly cleaned fridge before making you and Toji’s food. You had just finished plating the sandwich and orange slices when you heard the bathroom door open and a half-naked Toji climbed down the stairs.

“Shit--that smells good.” He mumbled, making his into the kitchen to peek at the food.

“It’s just--it’s just chicken and some--” You tried to explain what was within the sandwich but you couldn’t keep focused. Not when his smokey scent was so close again, now dampened by whatever soap he had used. He smelled fresh and like--cinnamon?

You’re eyes wandered and your focus was as good as lost.

Toji was muscle. Just pure muscle.

And good muscle too. Muscle you could tell he had worked on and the muscle he used. It wasn’t fake muscle like those bodybuilders you would see in magazines. His skin looked soft and smooth and was only interrupted here and there by faint scars.

Scars.

Why did he have so many scars?

Your eyes found a small scar on his abdomen and your eyes left said scar to find his prominent Apollos belt--hard lines that disappeared beneath the white towel he had wrapped around his waist. Hard lined that made your face feel like you had shoved it into a pot of boiling water.

Maybe--just maybe you might see why your cousin would have been interested in a guy like him.

Maybe.

Toji reached for one of the plates growing even closer to you. His closeness made you feel even hotter, but you snapped out of your damning daze and pulled the plate out of his reach before he could take it.

Sharp, green eyes snapped down onto you not at all pleased.

“I was a good dog wasn’t I?” A deep frown pulled on his lips which usually stayed all too smug. “I took a shower like you asked. You promised lunch as my reward.”

“You need to change.” His eyes only narrowed further.

“Why?”

“Why?” You repeated with a huffing laugh. “Because it’s unhygienic to walk around buck-ass naked.” Toji rolled his eyes oh so dramatically like it was truly such a hassle to change.

“I’m wearing a towel.”

“No. Get changed. Into something clean.” You pulled the plate further away when he tried for it again. “Do you have clean clothes?” Toji shoved a thumb towards the living room turned makeshift bedroom. You noticed the pile of clothes on the other armchair closest to the tv and huffed. “There is no way those are all clean.”

“I’ll change.” He didn’t seem to understand he was still very much in your personal bubble and still very much making you burn alive. “If you give me some of those.” He redirected his hand to point toward the top of the fridge. You looked to find him pointing to the box of kinoko no yama’s you had hidden up there to keep out of sight from Tsumiki.

“I bought those for myself.” Toji shrugged, that goodman smirk pulling at the corner of his lips again.

“I’ll change if you give me some with my lunch.” His eyes shined with mischief as he leaned in even closer. “Otherwise I’m a-okay to stay like this. It’s freeing, ya know?” Your lips pressed together thinly as you tried not to let your eyes slip from his own. To try and forget he was naked and little droplets of water still clung to his pale skin.

“Fine .” Toji chuckled, pulling away from you finally.

“A pleasure doing business with you.” Toji winked before heading for his pile of clothes. You huffed, all but storming over to grab the box of snacks you had been looking forward to. “Make it a good handful, yeah.”

“You’ll get what you get.” You grumbled as you opened the box.

“Damn, you’re a hardballer huh?”

“Just get changed.” The box made a muffled bang when you all but slammed it down on the countertop. Toji only continued to smirk at your frustration as he passed you once more.

“These clean enough for ya?” He outstretched his hand to show you the clump of clothes he held. “Don’t think I’ve worn these yet.” He mused, scratching the side of his head like he was truly trying to think about it.

“I’m sure it's fine.” Toji didn’t seem satisfied with this answer cause he came all too close again. All too close and you could smell his spiced, smoky scent again. A scent that made your frustration deepen in a warming way.

“Ah, come on. Give ‘em a little whiff.” Toji wiggled them before your face. “What if they smell like shit 'cause I’ve been livin’ in a…what did you call it? Yeah, a landfill? Wouldn’t want to smell that bad.”

“I’m not going to smell the clothes you’ve been keeping in a goddamn pile.” You bit, swatting his hand away from you.

Your breath hitched involuntarily at the feel of his skin against yours.

Warm.

And solid.

Like stone.

Stone that had been left out to bake in the sun only to be wrapped in pale, silky sheets to horde that warmth.

Soft stone you wanted to hold against your cheek and--

“Get changed.” You grit through the fluttering drop of your stomach. Toji only chuckled, finally backing off.

“Yes ma’am.” And off he went into the downstairs bathroom. Once you heard the door shut with a soft click you gave a groan that sounded more like a growl as you roughly scrubbed your hands over your face.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

What the fuck did he think he was doing? Making you--you--

What was he doing? Giving you a damn headache that was for sure.

…did he know what he was doing? Was he doing it on purpose? Was he trying to stress you out so much it killed you?

Probably.

The door opened again before you could try to work through your thoughts. Out walked Toji fully clothed this time, though you noticed that his shaggy hair was still a bit too wet like he hadn’t bothered to fully dry off. You let it go because you could only handle so much from the man.

“Is this up to your standards?” You glanced over the outfit he was wearing; a gray crewneck and matching sweatpants. He was barefoot but you assumed he’d be wearing those ratty slides in a bit. “Can I eat now?”

You said nothing as you slid his plate along the counter towards him. His green eyes sparkled in excitement as he all but hunched over and began wolfing down the sandwich like it was his last meal. You couldn’t help the small wrinkle of your nose at the sight, picking up a slice of orange and popping it into your mouth.

“Can we talk like adults for a second?” You asked after a few moments of silence as you two ate. Toji glances your way, cheeks full of sandwich.

“Depends on what ya want to talk about.” He spoke around the food in his mouth, only making your wrinkled nose crease further.

“I want to talk about our situation here.” Fire flashed in those green eyes of his.

“No.” You didn’t even give him the stratification of a sigh because you were determined to at least talk over a few things. So, you simply grabbed the box of kinoko no yama and fished out a small handful. You leaned forward and added them to the slowly disappearing pile already on his plate.

“It’ll be quick. Just a few things and then we can be done.” Toji eyed you, then the added kinoko no yama, then to the box in your hands. He jutted his head towards the box, demanding more. You gave him more without complaint. “Do you have a job?” You watched Toji swallow the mouthful of the sandwich.

“Did.” And then he was chowing down on another bite of sandwich.

“Okay…you did. Were you fired?” He shook his head. “You quit?” A nod. “So you could take care of--” He leveled you with a glare so hard and bloody it made your body lock up. Made your heart race and your mind scream at you to run, run, run . “Okay…okay. That’s fine.” You spoke carefully--calm and softly.

He was hurting.

Even though he was an asshole, he still lost someone who you knew he cared for deeply. So deeply it was turning him into a complete and utter mess with her gone.

“I’m assuming you rent this townhome. Meaning rent is going to be due.” You continued, picking at the cardboard of the box of snacks in your hands. “I only have so much saved away. I’ve already started looking around for jobs and I think you need to find one too.” Toji’s eyes flickered over your features as he chewed his latest bite, taking you carefully in as you spoke.

“I can help you if you need it, but you need a job. We have two small children to feed and clothe and house. It was a struggle to do that for Tsumiki all by myself and adding another one on--” You shook your head, feeling your fingertips begin to grow cold and vision narrow the slightest bit at the thought of it all.

“I can’t do that all by myself. If you could pay for rent and utilities, I would pay for food and the kids. I feel that is more than fair.” You kept that soft and calm tone praying he would agree without complaint. Praying your cousin was right. Praying that he was a good man deep, deep down.

“If I say no?”

Of course.

Of course .

“I don’t think no is really an option. The kids cost a lot. Food, clothes, school, daycare, doctor visits . Keep in mind I am paying for your child, not just mine.” You could feel your sensitive tone slipping away the longer you spoke. Slipping away with no chance of gaining it back. “I don’t care where you work as long as you are paying your part off.”

“You might regret that.” Toji simply said. Simply said and took another bite of the sandwich, finishing it off. “The where I mean.”

You didn’t quite understand what he meant by that but he wasn’t saying no to finding a job and that is all you cared about.

“I know I won’t as long as we have a roof over our heads, running water, and lights,” Toji’s eyes shifted. Shifted to that dark look you had seen only a few times since meeting him. A look that reminded you of a predator. A look that made you want to run upstairs, grab your kids, and leave.

“Whatever you say, boss.” Toji shrugged, shoving a few of the mushroom-looking snacks into his mouth.

You let the air grow silent once more as you tried to keep yourself grounded. Tried to keep back the fearful burning building in your eyes.

You were scared of him.

Whatever the hell he was alluding to scared the shit out of you.

Dangerous. He was dangerous…

“Maybe he is in a gang. Maybe he made her join.” You’re aunt’s words echoed through your mind. Thoughts she had spoken huddled around in the kitchen with the other female members of your family as they worked on crafting dinner for everyone. Words you had scoffed at but--

Maybe he was in a gang. Maybe he seemed dangerous because he really was. It would explain the scars. The dark look in his eyes.

Maybe…maybe he had killed people before.

Maybe you were forcing him back into such bloody work and that's why you would regret it.

Whatever the reason, you were terrified.

“...you going to let me cut your hair?” You suddenly asked.

Brush your feelings aside. It’s what you always had done in the face of danger--of evil.

Ignore it.

Cover your eyes and ears and ignore it.

Toji rose a brow at you as he popped more of the sweet snacks into his mouth. You turned from him as you grabbed your sandwich. “You might act like a dog, but you don’t need to actually look the part.” You took a bite from your food as Toji laughed. A rich thing that helped you further forget the danger until it bore its fangs at you again.

“I’ll only do so many tricks in one day, warden.” His newest nickname for you made you roll your eyes as you swallowed. “Get me some beer and you can cut it tomorrow. Gotta look my best for work, right?” His words surprised you. You didn’t think he would have actually agreed but…

“Fine. Deal.” Again that richly deep laugh poured from his scarred lips once more.

“Always a pleasure doing business with ya.”

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mythicalmyles · 2 years ago

Note

Could I please request one of xvirus

Have fun with the concept I guess since I can't think of anything.

Also if you can include degrading, breeding, and marking it would be much appreciated

Labrat!cody x bad boy reader

drug use/misuse of medication

Reader is a dealer and Cody is a perverted nerd

degrading, breeding, dubcon, use of the word cunt/pussy, male!reader, bottom!reader, bondage, feminization, photography(i cant remember the name of that one kink)

You smirked to yourself as you bumped into a random guys side, you almost felt bad when you turned around to such a handsome face. He had a rounder face and dark green eyes, you quickly sheepishly apologised to him, a sunny smile slapped across your face.

You quickly turned and made away with due haste, once you were far enough away and tucked into a dingy alleyway you pulled his wallet from your pocket. It was beat up and practically falling apart, you turned it upsides down watching cards tip out and clatter to the floor. Not a single note. You huffed to yourself, picking up the cards. One had you stopping, twirling the plastic in your hand. It was an ID card, he was some kind of doctor.

You shoved them back into the wallet and sighed, you’d drop it off outside of the police station. There was nothing for you there.

Four months had passed and you hadn't ended up returning the wallet, you'd ended up looking into the company 'Cody' worked at. It was a laboratory that made drugs. There had been something in there for you after all, the moon hung high in the sky and the darkness seemed to consume everything around you.

The building was far out in the countryside, you had to beg on of your friends on your knees for their car. They reluctantly agreed to give you it, you knew how to drive. You just never bothered getting the license for it. Six years of driving and no one had stopped you yet.

You tapped your hands against the wheel, every car had left the car park and you almost felt safe enough to get out of the car but a light on the building hadn't went off. You were far too far away from any houses, at least from what you had seen.

You rested your elbow on your window as your pinky slipped into your mouth, teeth gnashing against the nail and splitting it. You dropped your hand from your mouth and sighed before opening the car door, you yanked your hood up as you looked around. You couldn't even hear so much as a car engine going by anywhere.

It was almost unsettling, you choked your fear down as your feet ground down into the gravel that filled the carpark. You kept looking around the car park as you slid a black fabric mask up over your mouth and nose. You made your way around the building until you managed to find an open window, the height of it made you shudder as you gazed up at it.

You scrunched your face up in annoyance and huffed, looking over to some bins. It was a starting point, you shrugged as you made your way towards them. You were quick to hop up onto them, trying not to create too much noise as you stood up. If you jumped high enough you could grab onto the ledge.

Life had been tough and in turn you had had to toughen up, you crouched and leapt up. You weren't the strongest but after swinging your legs and pulling yourself up you at least managed to get your torso up, shuffling forwards to bring your legs with you.

You had to take a moment to breathe, huffing and panting as you collected yourself. You stood up, you'd have to jump up to get into the window but it was going to be much easier then the climb up here.

You jumped up and propelled yourself forward, diving down into the floor. You winced at the racket you made, freezing still with wide eyes as you listened. There were no noises to indicate someone had heard you and you slowly took a breath as you relaxed your shoulders.

You stumbled up, leaning on the wall for support as you brushed yourself down. Your mask had slipped down your nose so you quickly pulled it back up, tired eye’s searching the room you had found yourself in. It looked like a meeting room, a big wide table with a shit load of chairs. Whoever owned this building had to be rich, you figured they wouldn’t miss some packets.

Besides, you had rent due in a week, along with last months. Flashbacks of dropping to your knees flashed through your mind before you rubbed your hands over your face, pushing the grimy office out of your mind as you made your way to the door.

You opened it slowly and cursed every creak the door let out, you poked your head out and looked both ways down the hall. It was dark and long, you had better move quick you had no idea if someone was here or if there was suppose to be anyone in early.

You shook the questions out of your head as you began peaking through glass doors, somethings caught your attention but none had looked like a medical room so far. You began to wonder if this huge building even had a laboratory. But you knew from the card it was used to open something, probably medication they produced or whatever it was they did. All you had cared about was what you could get your claws on, lord knows enough people already had theirs twisted inside of you.

Anxiety twisted through your body as you made your way down creaky stairs, your shoulders practically hit your ears once as you made your way down. You let out a light sigh of relief when you finally hit the bottom, you looked around the large room. It was pretty empty and really white.

You looked at either side seeing arches that lead through to darkness, you took a deep breath and chose the one closest to you.

Just as your anxiety got unbearable and began twisting its hands around your stomach you found large double doors. At the side was a keypad, you couldn’t see through the door so if there was someone behind it you were screwed.

You mentally prepared yourself and swiped Cody’s card against the scanner, smirking when it went from orange to green. You stepped back as the doors opened, eyes landing on a very large laboratory. Jackpot. Glee filled you, crushing out your anxiety as you quickly but quietly made your way through the doors which closed behind you.

(E/c) eyes searched the room, spotting a large cabinet at the bottom next to a couple of fridges. You had to hold back a laugh of excitement, care gone out the window as you rushed towards the cabinets. There was so much, you could finally disappear with this much. The thought alone had tears tugging at your eyes. It had been a long, long life.

Living as an orphan had been bad enough, you spent many of nights hidden in shop doors hiding from the pouring rain. You had lied, robbed, cheated and even hurt people. But with this you could sell most of it and quick, you knew a lot of people.

You almost dropped when you read the labels, Oxycontin, Vicodin and so much more. You wasted no time in grabbing handfuls and shoving them into your bag, you crammed them inside of your bag. You didn’t care if the packaging got mangled, they were printed all over with the logo on the packets. No one would even think of questioning the legitimacy of them.

Once you had filled up your bag you quickly began stuffing your pockets full, sighing and wishing you brought a bigger bag. You momentarily looked at the fridge before a headache began forming in your temples, the words almost incomprehensible. You shrugged, you had more then enough.

It had been dead quiet besides the rustling of pill packets. You grabbed up one last packet and opened it up, biting your lip as you popped two out of the packet. You threw them both into your mouth and swallowed without a second thought, tongue long since numbed to the chalky taste.

You began looking around the lab, the only room that had a light on. You figured they must have forgotten it, part of you wanted to keep exploring but you shook your head and turned back the way you came. Just as you were about to swipe the card, the doors opened. Your eyes doubled when Cody appeared in your view.

You barley had time to process much more then that before his fist slammed into your nose, sending you flying backwards. Your head smacked against the cold hard floor and black spots began quickly filling your vision.

You woke up, body drowsy and heavy. The opioids you had taken kicked in hard, you tried to move your arms but you found resistance. You flopped your head to the side, vision blurry and you furrowed your eyebrows as you tried to focus. You were tied to a hospital bed, you tried sitting up but you were too heavy for yourself to bare and you ended up flopping back down.

"Ah, the new lab rat has finally woken up." The voice was deep and gravely, almost as if he hadn't spoken in years. You focused your eyes onto the new figure that had appeared, Cody's face coming into focus. You could now see him a lot better, you were glad for a moment to be lying down because it would've been hard for you to deny that he had your body turning into jelly.

He had a light stubble around his jaw, his green eye's looked down at you. You tried to hide the shudder that ran down your spine, coughing as you twisted in your binds. He just tilted his head, gauntly pale face staring back at you with purple ringed eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in a month and then some, his long hair tugged off to the side. You could see him running his hand through it a lot, he stared at you blankly as you squirmed.

You couldn't find your voice, instead taking in the way his biceps tensed. Almost as if he expected you to shoot up and punch him, the grey and black hoody that hide his chests squeezing around his arms. "M'not a rat." You mumbled out, almost shrinking when his eyes narrowed. Despite his beautiful green eyes his glare was full of ice, his eyes searching all over your body before turning and walking over to cabinets.

"W-wait! Plea-please. I'm sorry." You quickly choked out, tripping over words as you heard the sound of metal clinking together. "You will be." You whined in your throat as fear began clouding your mind. You jumped when his hand wound into your hair, grabbing the strands hard as he turned your head to the side.

He ignored your begging words as he pushed a needle into your neck, you looked him from the corner of your eye, whimpering as the you felt the fluid flow into you. His face looked concentrated as you kept as still as you could, scared of making the needle tear your vein. "This wont kill you, I think I have other plans for you." His voice had a note of excitement to it, he told you to wait before laughing to himself and leaving.

It took a few moments but soon you began to sweat, body temperature suddenly rising. You let out a deep breathe as you tried to calm yourself, you squirmed around on the table as your clothes began to stick to your skin. You groaned as you began shaking, all comfort gone out the window.

Cody came back through the door and you looked at him with pleading eyes, he looked at you in surprise. "Huh." He muttered as he raked his eyes over you. "Didn't expect this." You whined as your cock began hardening, making an obvious tent in your jeans. Cody's smirking face staring right at you, you figured he'd be quick to nice it.

He pulled a pad and pen out from his hoody pocket, scribbling down something. You continued to squirm in your bonds, bringing your legs up as you tried to use them to push you up. Cody's hand pressing down onto your stomach had you falling back onto the bed.

You panicked when his hands moved to undo your belt, trying to pull your pelvis away from him and failing as his hand chased you. His hands felt warm as they weaselled their way under your shirt, you involuntarily shuddered as his fingers scrapped against your skin.

“P-please dont hurt me.” You choked out in a horse whisper, Cody didn’t bother answering you. Instead his empty eyes stared into yours, a smirk tugging at the side of his face. The look turned you on more then it should have, you could feel fear build up in the back of your mind but it was swept away quickly when Cody’s fingers began circling around the buds of your nipples.

You whined at the light friction, feeling your nipples start to harden as Cody got rougher. His hands eventually groping your chest. “Pretty tits.” You flushed bright red at his coment and shook your head. “Im not a girl!” You choked out, eyes doubling in size as you stared at him. He lightly chuckled before shoving your shirt up, his hands pushed your pecks together before motorboating you. You let out a squeal at the obscene gesture, trying to escape him.

“You sound like one.” His voice was almost annoyingly condescending, his teasing had you flushing bright red. He dragged his nails down your body, leaving thick lines in their wake. You couldn’t help but shudder, eyes lidded as you gazed up at him. “I didn’t think such a cute guy could be so naughty, I didn’t even suspect you.” His eye brow was quirked up and it looked as if he was proud. “And stealing drugs?” He snorted. “What else have you been upto? Hm?” You shrunk under his sharpening glare, shrugging your shoulders and looking away.

Your thighs clenched together, the slight friction having your lip drop as pleasure rolled up your spine. Cody’s long fingers made quick work of your belt, yanking your jeans down your thighs. Despite your efforts he was successful in removing the clothing, throwing them far off much to your dismay.

He roughly palmed your cock through your boxers, you let out a loud moan as you began rocking back into his hand. Pleasure filled your mind, quickly drowning out thoughts. It felt so hard to focus, the opioids and whatever he had given you seemed to have given you a unique reaction.

Cody bit his lip as he watched you whine and rut against his palm. “You got some pretty dick suckin’ lips on you, pretty boy.” You threw your head back as you let out a groan, Cody was driving you insane. “Beg for more, be a good girl.” He drawled out, his smug face staring down at you.

Your thighs squeezed tight, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. Cody frowned, stopping his hand as he moved to wrap them both around your neck. You stared at him with scared eyes, body trembling in fear. “Pl-please! Mo-more!” You quickly choked out, squirming in his hands.

Cody leaned back and smirked victoriously, climbing on top of you. He looked down at you with his mouth slightly open, you could see his tongue toying with his sharp teeth as he looked down at you. He almost looked like he wanted to eat you whole. You tried to hold back a groan as you looked at him, he seemed so dangerous.

Hot tingles shot through your stomach as you stared up at him with lidded eyes, practically vibrating inside of your skin. Every breath he took caused the tiniest of friction against your cock and it was driving you nuts.

Cody was almost content enough to sit and stare at you, you looked ruined under him and he had barley done anything. He had given you something he had made himself but on the rodents he had tested it on it hadn’t quite had this reaction. “Thieves get punished you know.” He grinned as you squirmed, he was relishing in every reaction he could pull from you.

“I think.. i’ll breed you like a bitch.” Cody’s cock twitched, the way your eyes doubled and you choked on your saliva. Drool began dribbling down your chin, Cody had pity and grabbed your chin, pulling your head up. You let out a deep breath as your throat finally cleared, staring up at Cody with teary eyes.

It was enough to make Cody snap, making his way in between your thighs and quickly doing away with your boxers. You shuddered at the cold air, taking deep breaths as you prepared yourself

Cody pulled a bottle of lube out of his pocket, squirting it over his fingers. It dripped down his hand and down his wrist in thick globs, he didn’t bother warming it before sliding two fingers into you. You let out a yelp, his free hand practically pushing your thigh into your ear. The pain of the position faded when Cody’s fingers began jabbing into your prostate, Cody groaned when he watched your eyes cross and roll back.

“C-cross your eyes again.” Cody’s voice was deep and he almost sounded feral, his hand moving from your thigh to dig in his pocket. He slowly fucked you with his fingers as he unlocked his phone, you whined as you spread your legs for him. You blinked when a flash went off, colours dancing in your eyes. Cody groaned as he looked at his phone, you looked so fucked. Your hair stuck to your forehead due to the sweat and your eyes had a dumb hazed look to them, Cody wanted to keep seeing that look on you face. “Do the eyes.” Cody spoke, eyes hard as he stared at you.

You nodded and crossed your eyes while looking up, Cody suddenly began slamming his fingers into you. Cody recorded you for a few moments as he fucked his fingers into your ass, he dropped his phone behind him and quickly returned to you.

He leaned right over you, his hands spreading your legs and bending you in half. He looked you in the eye for a few seconds before aggressively pressing his lips to yous, one of his hands moving to help his cock guide into your hole. He manage to make you squeal as he slid into you, he didn’t go fast but he also didn’t stop until he had gotten balls deep inside of you.

He felt really large inside of you, as soon as his cock pressed against your prostate you came hard. You let out a loud garbled moan of Cody’s name, Cody could only pause as he watched you cum from his cock sliding into you. Cody wasted no time in almost pulling all the way out only to slam back into your tight hole. “Fuck, such a good boy. Such a good bitch.” Cody choked out, gasping at the tightness of your hole. “Nev-never thought id see yo-our cute lil’ face again.” He groaned out, biting his lip as he looked down at you. All you could do was moan as he pounded you, hands flexing and twisting against your restraints.

“Ple-lease le-let go.” You begged, waving your hands. Cody paused, he looked like he was thinking over it for a moment before he paused his thrusts. He undid the buckles on your restraints, letting your wrists free.

You quickly pulled them close, rubbing your red wrists. Cody quickly stole your attention back by pressing his lips to yous, he kissed you with hunger. It was hot and sloppy, both of your drool running down your chin and neck. Cody continued to fuck you with abandon, his cock hitting deeper then anyone ever had. You never thought some weirdo cooped up in a lab could make you feel the best you ever had.

When Cody pulled away so you both could choke down air you began babbling, you had no clue what you were saying and you didn’t think Cody did either. Instead he buried his head into your neck, sucking the flesh he could. You were sure the teeth that scrapped against you were going to leave you riddled with bruises, you couldn’t find it in you to care when the feeling of Cody’s cock stretching your insides out was all you could think of. You could feel his thick head slamming against your prostate and it left you a drooling mess.

Your entire body shook, your hands grabbing onto Cody’s biceps for dear life. You were sure you were going to leave him with scars, but if he felt it he didn’t show it. Cody wrapped one of his hands around your throat, his other going to grab your hip and angle you up so he could slide deeper into you. You held onto his wrist as you came for the second time, eyes wide and lips parted. You could barley crack a sound as it slammed into you, leaving you gasping for air as pleasure shook through your body.

Cody choked at how tight you got, choking you a bit too hard as he flooded your insides with his cum. He practically growled as he rode out his orgasm, his body shaking as he dropped on top of you.

He puffed and panted against your neck causing you to shudder, you found yourself wrapping your arms around him. Your fingers lightly ran up and down his spine as you both basked in the afterglow

#xvirus #xvirus x reader #xvirus x malereader #xvirus x male!reader #xvirus x male reader #cody x malereader #cody x male reader #cody x male!reader #creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta x male reader #creepy pasta x reader #creepypasta x male!reader #creepy pasta x male!reader #creepy pasta x male reader #creepy pasta x malereader #creepy pasta #myfic

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tennessoui · 1 year ago

Note

Trick or Treat Counseling AU

trick or treat 😻🎃☠️

Here’s a silly 5 sentence fragment (jk it was supposed to be a 5 sentence fragment but nvm it’s like 20 lol):

Anakin bolts from the kitchen to the couch with a speed only possible through misuse of the Force.

Obi-Wan would comment on it, if only because he knows how much Anakin resents it when he does so, but he himself is rather preoccupied with the blinking comm sequence in the air.

Ahsoka has not voluntarily reached out to talk with them since the immediate aftermath of the war when she called frantic and rather wounded herself to make sure that they were still alive.

It’s set a rather bad precedent, if Obi-Wan’s being honest—now her name lights up his comm link and all he can think of is has someone almost died once more?

“Well, pick it up, pick it up,” Anakin urges him in the tone of voice of one who is absolutely thinking the same thing.

The blue lighted figure of Ahsoka is small and grainy, as if her connection, wherever she is, is bad.

“Snips!” Anakin says, body like a live wire beside Obi-Wan even as his voice sounds casual. “How are you?”

“Masters,” Ahsoka replies, dipping her head. She’s smiling slightly though her countenance otherwise can only be described as befuddled. “I received a packet of…questions. From a Sheari Flot’inae?”

“Oh wow, that was fast,” Anakin says. “We just gave her your name a few hours ago. Do you have questions about it? She said the packet would be sort of obvious.”

“Right,” Ahsoka says. “So. Just one question actually. Is this a joke or something?”

Her head is tilted to the right and her voice is confused; immediately, Obi-Wan understands she means no harm whatsoever in the asking.

The question stings all the same, and across their open bond, he can feel Anakin’s equal hurt.

“No,” Obi-Wan says carefully, allowing his hands to tighten around each other in his lap where they cannot be seen. “It is not. We, ah. We have recently decided that it would be for the best if we…addressed some of the problems in our relationship. To help us grow as people and partners.”

“Cause walking away isn’t an option,” Anakin adds, voice unreadable. Obi-Wan barely resists the urge to close his eyes.

“Our counselor requested we send her a handful of names that she could contact,” he says quickly. “With a questionnaire similar to one we filled out upon our intake with her. So she can get an outsider’s perspective on our relationship.”

“Right,” Ahsoka says slowly, drawing out the letters. “So this questionnaire is like the one you guys filled out…about your relationship with each other. And I’m supposed to take it seriously.”

“And complete it sober,” Anakin nods. “That’s important.”

Obi-Wan coughs. “It would mean so much to us, Ahsoka, if you were to help us in this. I know—we do not have the right to ask anything of you, that this may just be another burden we are placing on your shoulders unfairly and for our own personal gain, but no one knows us the way you do.” He clears his throat, and anakin’s hand falls to rest against the back of his. “You of all people would know how we are together in our happiest and at our worst. It would mean so much to me if you took this task seriously and with the wisdom and thoughtfulness I have always admired in you.”

“Right,” Ahsoka says. Her cheeks look darker, and Obi-Wan hopes she’s taken his words to heart. “So for question 6, what would you like me to put? Cause I’m not sure I understand why I’m being asked this if this isn’t all just a joke.”

Obi-Wan can feel his confusion mirrored on Anakin’s side of the bond. “What’s question 6?” Anakin asks.

Ahsoka looks down at the sheet of flimsi in her hand. “On a scale of one to five with five being very comfortable, how comfortable would you say the couple is with public displays of affection? For example, have you ever seen them kiss each other in public? If you can remember a specific time, please note.”

She raises her head to look at them, markings where her eyebrows would be if she were human raised high. “I can’t say I remember, Masters, so should I put that you save all the kissing for your quarters or will that make you sound too frigid?”

[trick or treat ask game!]

#asks #obikin #couples counseling au #yeah this is the moment they realize they’re in couples counseling #bless them <3

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absurdthirst · 2 years ago

Text

Holy Water {Max Phillips x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 14.3k

Warnings: Mentions of murder, mentions of blood, vampirism, bad attitudes, snarky comments, toxic workplace, physical assault, fear, anxiety, misuse of holy water, sex pollen, DUB CON, compulsion, oral sex (female receiving), vaginal sex, rough sex, church sex, desecrating a holy place, multiple orgasms, vampire sex

Comments: Max Phillips is your new boss and you hate him for being a vampire. Clashing until you quit, you are attacked one night and take refuge in the church nearby. Where Max has a very strange reaction when you splash him with Holy Water.

A/N: We wanted sex pollen so we wrote it!

Co-written with @pedropascalsx

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Max Phillips MasterList ||

Moodboard by @pedropascalsx

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The silence is loud, almost deafening. The wind barely stirs, there's not even the sounds of animals scurrying in the dark. Not even the sound of breathing can be heard. The air is thick, heavy with something ominous. The scent is metallic, almost coppery and you can taste it. It's the perfect scene for a horror movie right before the terror begins, the moonlight hanging heavy in the unusually dark night sky. The only beacon of light to be had.

The table had been set. Candles lit and the wine poured. His favourite CD was playing quietly in the background as you perfected the final touches for what you assumed would have been a perfect evening.

The dress you wore was a knockout, hugging every curve and the neckline dipping just enough to show off your cleavage. Your hair styled perfectly with your natural makeup giving you an extra glow.

You had taken one last look at the table and giggled. It was covered with little bite size tasters of wedding cakes with multiple flavors and fillings. It was the very last thing you had to do before your big day that upcoming summer, choose the cake. So you secretly had his favorite bakery make you samples of every flavor they offered.

He was running a little late but that wasn’t surprising, rush hour traffic on a Friday is always a little worse than the rest of the week and you’d decided to take those extra minutes to double check that everything was ready.

A loud unexpected knock at the door had signaled the end of life as you knew it.

You always peeped through the little hole to see who was waiting on the other side but you skipped it that time. Too excited and occupied by things you thought were to come.

Two uniformed police officers. Both stood with vacant expressions on their faces. *In that moment you immediately knew.* They didn’t come into the apartment. They apologized and said words that didn’t make sense, they showed you their IDs and asked you to follow them to the local hospital. You went back into your apartment and blew out the candles before slipping on your coat and shoes.

All of you left that day, but not all of you would be coming back later that evening.

****

It’s a common misconception that vampires can’t see their reflection. Maybe at one point they couldn’t because all mirrors were made with a silver backing, but not modern day mirrors. Max checks his teeth, making sure that the intern he had just feasted on wasn’t stuck in them. He hates when he has bits of human in his gums. Causes gingivitis. He licks his lips, winking at the handsome devil in the reflection and then sets out to smooth back the flyaway hairs that had gotten out of place from the struggle the poor bastard had put up. Some don’t like the taste of a scared meal, but for Max, it enhances the flavor of the vitamin B in the bloodstream.

Once his appearance is deemed perfect, he whistles as he strolls out of the bathroom on the twelfth floor and moves towards the break room where everyone has been gathered. He would have preferred it to be in the bullpen, but those are easily changes to be made when he is running things.

You take a seat towards the back of the break room, smoothing out your work dress before crossing your legs. Time to meet the new boss. You feel a little nervous, you had gotten along so well with your last boss and you were so grateful that he arranged for you to have a few weeks off paid after your fiancé was murdered. You can only hope your new boss is as kind and understanding.

“Max Phillips!” As soon as Max hears his name being announced, he walks through the door, grinning an award winning smile and taking in the room. He knows everyone’s names but he doesn’t say anything as he walks over to shake the office manager's hand. “Good to be here.”

Your heart sinks at the sight of him. Cocky, arrogant and clearly about to be a massive pain in your ass… And worst of all? A vampire.

You try to keep level headed about living in a society integrated with vampires, and to be honest you were happy to co-exist with them until that fatal night your beloved was brutally murdered by one.

But things are still raw and the fact that there are specialist bars and clubs popping up for people to be fed from or turned on every corner makes your stomach lurch.

Jake had been murdered by men who had been turned less than 2 weeks before, he was simply bitten and left to his own devices.

No one was made to keep an eye on them or help them deal with their urges and your sweet loving boyfriend of 4 years paid the ultimate price.

Max winks at one of the receptionists, Marlene is her name if he remembers the employee file right, and he does. Another helpful thing about being a vampire is the automatic photographic memory. He can see that she will be easily hypnotized; she might be a tasty snack. To munch on, not have a full course meal. Especially since she seems to be on her period. “What do we sell here?” Max asks, pouting as he looks around the room at all the bored people. They were lifeless, which was ironic considering he was the one who’s heart didn’t beat. He pauses on one face, stony and disapproving. Making him smirk slightly at the challenge the beautiful face contains. “You.” He points at her.

Your breath hitches as he points at you, flashing a disarming smile that you refuse to let affect you. “Vacations,” you say blankly before taking a sip of your cheap coffee.

“No.” Apparently this chick has an attitude, he can dig it. Turning to another employee next to you, he changes his expression. “We sell dreams.” He urges, putting a sense of nostalgia in his voice. “We sell escape from routine, life.” Oh the irony of that makes him want to giggle. “No one wants to talk about their dental plans or their 401k. They want to talk about strolling the streets of Rome and bumping into a lover that swept them away for a magical week.”

You roll your eyes at his impassioned speech. Before swallowing down the final dregs of your lukewarm coffee. “Great.” You murmur under your breath, something telling you that these speeches will become an everyday occurrence.

Most are buoyed by his speech, some aren't. Though the one who has him intrigued the most is the one who looks annoyed. He looks over the crowd again, decisions made on a few of their fates from this interaction alone. "I'll be coming around to meet all of you individually, but for now, happy selling!"

Don’t rush, you think to yourself as you discard your coffee cup in the trash and make your way out of the room. Feeling a pair of eyes lingering on you the entire time.

Max whispers your name to himself, making a note to look in your personnel file again before having his one on one with you. It's obvious that you have some sort of disdain for him and he's wondering if it's from just first impressions or if there is another reason you look like you want to stake him in the heart.

The rest of your morning is spent working on a big job. A family vacation to Walt Disney World - the commission is great and you’re occupied by the many details of the job, but you can’t shake the feeling you’re being watched. You glance up a few times but you don’t see anyone.

Your file thoroughly studied, Max has figured out that it's because he's a vampire. The little notation in your file for the extended leave for 'bereavement' led to the discovery of your fiancé's murder. Down the rabbit hole of his underworld contacts to find out that he had been attacked by vampires and killed. It explains it, and just makes Max decide that he will have to be extra charming towards you.

You hate him. It’s been less than a day but you can’t stand him. The arrogant way he winks across the room at you, the way he insists on calling you sweetheart and lets his hand rest on your shoulder as he listens intently to your work calls.

“Good job.” Max hums as you finish the call and press the break button so he can talk to you. “Only thing I would say is that you could have upsold them on that meal package.” He chuckles and pats his own trim stomach. “People on vacation love to not think about their abs.”

"They made it clear they intended to eat out and explore local businesses," you say back with a scoff, "If I could have, I would have. But they wouldn't have gone for it."

"Sure you could have." Max hums. "You just have to remind them of all their options. The value of it."

"Don't you have something better to be doing with your time?" you snap back at him, before grabbing your coffee cup and making your way to the break room.

Max's brows lift and he smirks at your retreating figure, "This is my job, sweetheart!" He calls after you. Apparently you didn't like the hands on approach. "Dave!" He calls out to the man passing by him. "Let me chat with you.”

You pour yourself a large helping on the crappy instant coffee that's kept in a large supply in the break room. Cursing him under your breath. "Arrogant son of a bitch."

"Who?" Max appears behind you and leans over your shoulder. "Who aren't we liking in the office?" He asks playfully, fully aware you hate him.

You groan out loud before rolling your eyes, "Don't you have someone else you can bother?"

"I'm getting the feeling you don't like me." Max pouts, giving you a chance to deny it, but he knows you won't.

You hum before taking a large sip of your coffee, "Maybe you're not as dumb as you look after all."

Max can tolerate a lot, but his friendly gaze freezes slightly and his eyes lose some of their affable warmth. "You do understand who I am, don't you?" The tone is still perfectly professional, but there is a warning threaded through it. "I'm your boss, so maybe try not to insult me to my face?"

"Is that a threat, Mr. Phillips?" You ask before attempting to push past him.

Max's jaw rocks slightly. "This is a workplace." He reminds you. "You would do well to remember that." Instead of staying and continuing to argue with you, he tilts his head, "Perhaps a week off without pay will remind you?" He asks.

"Make it two." You challenge with a raised eyebrow.

"Done." Max snaps his fingers and slaps his hands together. "Gather your things, you're punched out as of now." His tone is final, firm. He frowns in disappointment, hoping that you would have been a bit more flexible. On paper you were a fantastic employee, top of his list. Now it seems that he might have to rethink things.

"Fuck," you mouth to yourself as you grab your things from your desk. Two weeks without pay is going to be hell on earth but there was something inside you that just needed to wipe that smugness off of his face. You glance over towards his office and see him standing in the doorway watching as you pack up some of your things.

He knows there are very few employees here that can afford to take two weeks without pay and he wonders if you will come and apologize. That's all that is necessary for you to stay. Although he feels like you wouldn't, too stubborn for your own good. Max shifts and calls your name. "When you are ready, step into my office to sign some papers please."

You pull the strap of your handbag over your shoulder and tuck your jacket under your arm before making your way to his office. Attempting to ignore the glares from everyone else in the room. You tap his door quietly and wait to be invited in.

"Come in." The irony of inviting someone into his office isn't lost on Max and he looks up when the door is pushed open.

"Would you feel more comfortable with the door open or closed?" He asks.

"I don't mind," you say with a shrug, unsure how this is about to go. "Whatever suits you.”

"Close the door." Max decides, setting his pen down and motioning for you to take a seat. "No need for everyone to try to walk by to hear."

You simply nod in agreement and slowly close the door behind you. Taking small tentative steps towards the chair, he's gesturing for you to sit on. "What do I need to sign?"

"Nothing." Max tosses you a smirk. "I lied but thought it was better that I say that than publicly airing your issue with me."

"I don't have an issue with you," you say with a non committal shrug, feeling the obvious lie lingering in the air.

Max doesn't believe you, but he shrugs and leans back in his chair. "If you say so." He lets you off. "Whatever your feelings, as long as you can do your job and not incite rebellion in the office, we are fine." He lifts a brow. "Unless you like being difficult?"

"Incite a rebellion?" You say with a scoff, "Ah, so when a woman doesn't swoon and fall at your feet, we're rebels? How medieval of you.”

Max's easy expression drops away and he stares at you for a long moment. "I don't give a fuck what you think of me." He states flatly. "But you won't be unprofessional and think you won't be corrected." He waits for another beat. "Now.... Do you want to start again, or do you want to have two weeks without pay?"

You can't help but smirk at the way his face falls, clearly not used to having someone challenge or not fall over their own feet to impress him. "Start again. But this time, you don't speak to me and I don't speak to you. I will continue being the best salesperson here and you can invest your valuable time in those interested in sucking up to you."

Max tilts his head, watching you. "I am your boss." He murmurs. "I can just fire you for cause and move on to someone with less...issues." He pauses. "But I know you're down an income already."

"Excuse me?" You ask, the smirk plastered across your face being instantly replaced with fury. "You have no right... don't you dare."

"Awww, did I hit a nerve?" Max asks, springing out of his chair and farting around the desk before you can blink an eye. "You insult me to my face, knowing what I am, what I can do and expect me to be nice?"

"Fuck you." You spit back, forgetting about all the years you've given to this company and getting ready to walk out, "Is that a threat, Mr. Phillips?"

"No." Max settles back and leans against his desk. "It's not. But you have an attitude problem." He observes. "I didn't kill your fiancé."

"No, but someone you most likely had a hand in turning did." Your hands shake with anger as he casually brings up Jake, "I don't have an attitude problem. I have an issue with the fact you can commit any type of crime you see fit and we have to suffer the consequences whilst you clearly get away with murder."

"I just moved to town sweetheart." Max hums. "Sorry, wasn't me. But blame me if it makes you feel better." He waves his hand dismissively. "Get back to work." You hate him and he's not going to change that, but he's not going to fire you right now.

"Arrogant son of a bitch," you murmur as you get out of your chair and make your way towards the door, "You don't talk to me again. You have an issue with me or my performance. You go through HR." You slam the door behind you and waltz back to your desk, throwing your bag back underneath it and shaking your head.

“Shit.” Max sighs and walks around to your file and flips it open. He had decided to change you, you had been an excellent candidate to change but now….. Max circles your picture with his finger. He doesn’t want to destroy you, but you might just push him to have to do just that. It’s a shame, you’re a sexy woman and he can smell how good you would taste.

You glance over at the picture of you and Jake on your desk, tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you're reminded of happier times. It's at this moment you decide that you'll work tirelessly to avoid any interaction with Max possible.

****

It's been a week since the incident in his office. You've avoided him as much as possible, slinking out of the coffee room without as much of a word when he waltzes in, keeping your head down at your desk and refusing to make any eye contact with him when he enters the room.

The only place he has you cornered is the meeting room. Every morning he calls everyone in for one of his signature pep talks and he makes a deal of calling on you every time and attempting to trip you up. Making snide comments or attempting to call you out on something to see if you'll snap, but you refuse. Instead you plaster on a sickly sweet smile and keep yourself as level headed as possible, enjoying the flash of fury that he can't quite keep at bay every time he fails in his attempts to humiliate you.

Max narrows his eyes on the sales report, your numbers are starting to slide and he smirks viciously. Your file is still one that he hasn't dealt with yet, although the changes are starting to happen around the office. He's already turned a few of your co-workers. He picks up his phone and dials your desk.

You sigh out loud when you see his name flash up on your desk phone. "Yes?" you ask into the phone, your annoyance crystal clear.

"Would you come to my office please? We need to discuss your sales figures." Max asks stiffly and then hangs up so you don't even have a chance to deny him.

You take a deep breath and make your way to his office, knocking once before letting yourself in and taking a seat. "How can I help you today, Mr Phillips?"

Max shifts in his seat, straightening up and adjusting his tie. "Please sit, we need to discuss your numbers.

You lower yourself into the seat and shrug your shoulders, "Okay, what do you need to discuss?"

"Your sales have been slipping." Max offers you the report. "Drastically." He leans back and watches as you thumb through the pages.

"Drastically?" you say back with a laugh, "I'm outselling everyone in the office."

"Actually…. Max pulls out the other report and hands it to you. "You're not."

"You?" You yell across the desk at him, "How the hell is someone who's supposedly senior management outselling the sales staff? Clearly you've falsified these documents."

Max smirks at your outrage and purses his lips. "You think I'm lying? How cute." He chuckles quietly. "You can check the system. All verified sales."

"Is your ego really that fragile, Max?" you say with an exaggerated pout, "Little man couldn't handle a woman in first place and had to take on extra duties to change that?"

"Taking on extra sales so the fucking department didn't get shit canned." Max growls. "I don't think you understand what management wants, sweetheart." He flashes a cold grin. "They wanted me to eat half the department the day I arrived."

"Oh is that what it is? You were protecting the department you're claiming you got hired to eat?" You say with a scoff. "Well congratulations, I hope you enjoy rubbing your already overinflated ego tonight as means of celebration. I have work to do."

Max calls your name sternly as you stand and turn to walk towards the door. "Get your numbers up." He cautions you. "Or you won't like the atmosphere come Monday."

"You don't frighten me, Max. I don't need to remind you that your kind has already taken everything that matters from me." You walk out the door, purposely leaving it wide open just so he has to get up and you hold back tears as you make a beeline towards the break room.

Max stands up and instead of closing the door, he marches after you. Tired of your treatment of him in front of the entire sales department.

You pour yourself a large cup of water and take a deep breath, determined not to let him see how much he's gotten under your skin today.

Striding into the room, Max clears his throat. "I'm going to have to write you up for insubordination." He announces, rocking his jaw as he gets more and more angry at the way you have been combative from the start. He didn't kill your fiancé and he's tired of being your whipping boy.

"Whatever makes you feel big, little man," you say before taking a large sip of water.

Max waits a beat to see if you will realize what you've said but you just stare at him. "You're fired." Max spits, fangs springing down from his gums as he glares at you.

"No, I quit." You say as the tears you'd been holding back start to stream down your face. "You can go and fuck yourself, Max Phillips.” You storm past him and grab your coat and bag from your desk and immediately make your way towards the exit. Needing to get out and away from him as quickly as you can.

"Bye sweetheart." Max calls, leaning against the break room door. "Try to have a better attitude with your next boss."

****

It had been five days since you're firing/quitting and you'd managed to convince your brother in law to hire you as temporary bar staff in his dive bar just to keep you afloat until you found something better suited for you. With the cleaning staff long gone and the rest of the bar staff likely tucked up in bed, you finished restocking the beer fridge and replacing the bar towels before calling it a night. It was just past 2am and the streets seemed bare. You set the alarm and hastily locked the side door before making your way towards your car.

Max hums, checking his watch as patting the hip of the human that he had fed from earlier. "I've got to go, babe." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out some money to tuck in between her tits playfully, "go home and drink some OJ. Gotta replenish that blood for tomorrow." He waggles his brows and winks. She pouts but within minutes Max is stumbling out of the bar un-ironically named Fangs into the cool morning air. The alleyway is dark, but his hearing is better than most and he moves towards the street a few blocks over where he parked his car.

You shiver in the cold as you pick up your pace a little, trying to push down the feeling that you're being watched.

Max hears something. A snickering that is nothing but trouble and he can hear the whispers. "Look at her. Easy target." Vampires. "That's the one - the woman of the other one we drained." That gets his attention, because how many woman's partners were drained in this town? Speeding up, he spots you in the distance, unaware of the danger around you.

You start to rifle through your bag, digging out your keys to feed them through your fingers, just to relieve a little panic rising in your chest. You glance around and don't see anyone, but you can't feel the feeling that you're being watched.

The attack comes suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, but Max sees the two fly in from the darkness. Hissing a curse, he darts down the alleyway far faster than a mortal could run, intent on stopping this sport.

Your cry as you are pushed up against the side of your car pisses Max off. He's close enough to see that it is you. Head yanked back and throat exposed. Making him growl in furious rage, the sound like an angry beast and making the two vampires pause before one sinks his teeth into your jugular. Giving him just enough time to reach you and body slam the two of them and throw them away from you.

Your legs threaten to fail as you attempt to catch your breath, you're not sure whether you find the strength but you push yourself upright and run into the building in front of you. Running past the lines of pews and heading to the confessional to hide.

Once their prey is out of sight, the two vampires focus on Max, snarling and flashing their fangs in a show of anger but they don't attack. Obviously believing that Max has some claim on the human he had protected.

You slide the confessional curtain closed behind you and drop to the floor, your hands shaking with fear as you try to regain some composure.

Only when the two slink off into the shadows where they belong does Max relax, looking around and seeing the door to the church pushed open. Groaning to himself and rolling his eyes, he stares up at the cross over the threshold and grins as he crosses it. "Sweetheart?" He calls out, the low lights are soft and he starts looking through the pews for one very scared human. "Come out."

The sound of his footsteps make you shake even harder, you wrap your arms around your legs and bring them closer to your chest in an attempt to make yourself smaller. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip to suppress any sounds that might slip through.

"Where are you?" He demands, freezing so he can listen for the sound of you breathing. "It's safe, come on out, sweetheart."

You refuse to move a muscle, remaining as still and quiet as you possibly can. Knowing that this is all just a trick and the moment he finds you, he's going to kill you.

Your refusal to answer him and it makes him roll his eyes. Of course you would be difficult even when he saves your life. Instead of calling you again, he smirks and picks up a heavy hymnal and drops it on the ground.

The loud bang causes a loud gasp to slip through your lips and immediately gives away your location. You curse yourself as you start to raise up off the ground getting ready to run.

Max chuckles quietly at the sound coming from the confession and opens the dark, heavy curtain. "Hey, sweetheart. You talking to God in there?" He asks. "You could always just talk to me. I'm better."

"Please just leave," you start to beg, your voice almost unrecognizable to yourself as he starts in front of you, "I quit. I don't understand why you're still trying to hurt me."

“Trying to hurt you?” Realization dawns and with it comes the biggest pout. You think he attacked you. Instead of being a decent human being (well, sort of), you think he is playing some sick game. “I scared off the vampires who were going to turn you into human jerky.”

"I'm supposed to believe that? Even after all the threats and passive aggressive comments from you?" You say as a shiver runs through you.

"I've never threatened you." His pout turns into a frown. "Talking to you about the realities of the workforce isn't threatening. Besides like you said- you quit." He shrugs and jerks his head. "Come on. I'll walk you to your car."

You figure that pissing him off by refusing or pushing past him isn't your best bet here, so you shrug and take a few small steps forward.

Max steps back, giving you a wide berth and holding his hand out like he is showing you the world. He can still hear your heart galloping in your chest so figures you are still nervous. "See? Everyone's friends here."

You nod your head slightly, still unsure on how to gauge this. But you take a few more steps, picking up the pace a little to increase the distance.

You are anxious to get away from him, he can sense it. His own pace quickens to keep up with you, not wanting you to go outside without him there. Just in case.

The sound of his footsteps speeding up behind you makes your panic levels rise through the roof. You look around for something to protect you with but the only thing that's near you in the font that houses the holy water. You increase your pace once nice more and duck around it.

"Are we playing tag?" He calls out, trying to piss you off enough to make you calm down. "Are you it, or am I?"

"This isn't funny." you stutter as you move further from him. Your fingertips gripping onto the font. "I won't ever bother you again. I'll leave town. Just don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart." Max coos, trying to adopt a less playful tone, wanting to soothe your wary emotions. "Come out, I'll get you home safe." He sees you peer around the damn vessel of holy water and holds his hand out. He doesn't want to compel you, but he will.

"No." You say as sternly as possible. "Just leave."

"You want to get eaten?" Max hisses. "Fine." He's trying to help you and you just keep fighting him.

"You say that like you're not going to kill me the first opportunity you get." you snarl, "I know what this stuff does to your kind." You say as you gesture to the water.

Max glances at the water and then back at you, laughing. "Oh sweetheart." He rolls his eyes and spreads his arms wide. "I supposedly shouldn't even be able to walk into this building." He reminds you. "The "church"-" he uses air quotes around the word, "hasn't been Holy since the 1800s."

You shake your head at his words, "No." You watch him take slow steps towards you and without thinking you reach down into bowl and splash a bunch of the holy water in his distraction before scrambling backwards.

"Fuck!" Max is more pissed off about the fact that his wool jacket got wet than you splashing him with holy water. He hates the smell of wet wool but the damn thing is warm, making him feel moderately human for a moment. You dart around the vessel and Max leaps in front of you, grabbing you by both arms. "That wasn't nice!" He hisses, blinking the water out of his eyes.

"You trying to kill me outside this Church wasn't nice," you scream at him as his grip on your arms tightens

"Fucking hell, I was trying to save you." Max's nostrils flare and the bloom of your scent fills them like ambrosia, making him moan and duck his head to bury it against your neck.

"What are you doing?" you gasp as he drags his lips against your neck.

"I- you smell so fucking good." Max groans, holding you tighter and inhaling the gorgeous scent of your blood rushing through your veins. It goes straight to his cock, hardening against your hip as he kisses and licks at your pulse like he is starving. "Even when you're hating me, you always smell good. Skin tastes so sweet." He moans between laps at your skin.

"Max," you whimper unable to hide from how good it feels, "Are you going t-" You cut yourself off with your own gasp as you feel his rock hard cock press up against you.

"Fuck." Max's head is swimming with lust and feels like his skin is on fire from the inside. Not in the melting, about to die, kind of way that you imagined when you flung Holy water in his face. Instead, it's this need to tear your clothes off and bury his cock into your warm, wet body until you are screaming and cumming around him. "Say it again," he begs. "Say my name just like that again." He pulls your purse off your shoulder and tosses it down, sliding a hand down and gripping your ass to rock you against his hard body.

"Max," you whimper again, unsure how you're suddenly under his spell. The feeling of his body pressing against yours making your pussy drip with arousal. "What are you doing to me?"

He knows he's projecting, compelling you to want him, but he can't stop. "I- fuck, I need to touch you." Max rushes out, sounding breathless even though he technically needs no air in his lungs. "Want to taste every inch of your skin."

Every part of your brain is telling you to push him away, to run as fast as you can but the way he's touching you is like nothing you've ever experienced before. "You hate me," you choke out as he roughly squeezes one of your breasts.

"No I don't." Max groans, loving the heat you are radiating and he wants to curl around it and soak it up. His hand slides under your shirt and he covers your bra with his hand. "Fuck. Fuck I need to be inside you." You're in a church, but he doesn't give a fuck. He would be tugging at your clothes right in front of the Father and do it happily.

His other hand slides around to cup your cunt through your jeans. "You want to stake me through the heart, but I want to make you cum."

"This is a trick," you stammer out, putting up zero resistance to all of his advances. "You're just trying to push down my defenses."

"This feel like a trick?" He rolls his hips forward and pushes his hard cock into your hip even more. "Fuck." He lets go of your breast and reaches up to strip your jacket off your body. Starting to lose control and he doesn't want to rip your clothes if he can help it.

"Fuck," you push him away, shaking your head, "Why are you doing this? You despise me. You can't deny it."

"I can't stop." Max understands you hate him, although he doesn't know why you keep insisting it's him that hates you. He pulls away to push your shirt up and over your head, revealing your pretty bra and groaning. "Fuck, fuck, look at you." He groans, ducking his head down and kissing along your bra, licking your skin.

"You can't stop?" you ask with a raised eyebrow, hating the way you moan as he kisses your skin. "Max," you whimper again as he strong arms you down onto a pew.

"Yes, yes 'Max'" He moans, "Max is going to make you feel so good, baby. I promise you. It'll be so good, soooo good." He nudges your bra down enough with his nose so that he can pop your nipple into his mouth, his fingers working on your jeans. Eager to lay you out bare and quiche this fire in his veins.

You're not sure how or why this is happening. You both despise each other but the way his mouth feels on your skin is electric and instead of moving from him, it's like you're magnetized. "Taste me." You whisper.

Max groans, pulling away so he can pull your clothes off of you. Not caring where the jeans and panties you were wearing land as he throws them behind him. Knees hitting the floors as if in prayer but if he is praying, it's to the cunt he buries his face in.

"MAAAAXXX," you scream as he starts to lap at your folds, eating you like a man starved. Like a man who needs to do this to survive.

Fingers dig into your thighs, breaking capillaries and the smell of fresh blood makes him moan. His tongue flicks over your clit rapidly. He's faster, stronger than a mere human, of course he could eat pussy faster too.

"We shouldn't be doing this," you croak out as he pulls you closer and closer to your high.

Max disagrees wholeheartedly and grumbles against your clit to voice that. Pulling you closer to the edge of the pew and letting go of one of your thighs so he can pull his aching cock out of his pants.

Your mind is clouded with pleasure and all of the thoughts of pushing off you melt away as you start to come undone

Your cunt gets sweeter the closer you are to cumming. Making him growl and double down on how ravenously he licks through your folds. Eager to make your thighs shake and your world spin around on his tongue as he strokes himself.

Your hands find purpose in his hair, pulling it tightly as you rock against his face. "Gonna cum," you say with a groan as everything goes black. White hot pleasure tearing throughout your body as he continues his delicious assault as you start to convulse in pleasure, your thighs squeezing around his head.

You taste better than blood, making him groan as your thighs press around him. If he were human, you'd be suffocating him. His tongue curls up inside you, wanting every drop of your release as his appetizer, earned from the strokes of your clit.

You moan his name as he laps up every drop. The haze after your orgasm slowly begins to clear as his tongue hits something seismic inside of you. You gently push his head away before concentrating on steadying your heaving chest. "Fuck."

Now is the time to pull away with a clear head but there's nothing but lust rushing through Max's veins. The roar of need consumes him and his hands shaking as he rips at his own clothes.

"Fuck me, Max," you mewl, shocking yourself for letting those words fall from your lips.

He knows the way his compulsion is projecting onto you. This lust is nothing more than a mirage. Still, all he can do is nod, finally pulling down his boxers and letting his cock spring free. Nearly on his knees from the pain of needing to bury his cock inside you.

"Fuck." you mouth at the sight of it. Thick, the tip an angry shade of red as it begs for release. You clamp down around nothing as he gives it a few languid strokes before lining it up to your entrance.

It's automatic. Not something he can help. His fangs spring down from his gums when he pushes into your velvet hot cunt. Gripping him like a glove as he snarls inhumanly at the sensation and the pure relief of being inside you.

"Oh Max," you moan as he splits you open. It has been a while since you've had sex, and the feeling is almost overwhelming as your walls hug his thick cock.

Your moan makes him lose control. There's nothing slow or tender about the pace that he sets. Nothing forgiving about the way his hips slap forward to feed you his cock again. Lost to everything but the way your wails pitch up and the feeling of pleasure when you squeeze him.

His pace is relentless. Every slam of his hips making you desperately gasp for air, you grip the side of the pew with one hand and roughly squeeze your breast with the other. You're not sure if it's the haze he has you under or the pure pleasure but the words 'bite me' are lingering on the tip of your tongue.

The creaking and groaning of the pew is filling the large, acoustical space. The splintering of wood increases as the drive if his hips ramps up. Baring his teeth as he looks down at you, watching your eyes roll back and flutter. Not tiring even though a human would have already collapsed in exhaustion, Max keeps fucking you like his existence hinges on being inside you.

It's indescribable the way each thrust of his cock feels, it's like everything else in the world have ceased to exist as he fucks into you. "Don't stop," you choke out as he digs his fingernails into your hips.

It's just the permission he needs. Managing to speed up as the slapping of skin echoes throughout the church. Groaning out your name as he pushes you up the pew until you're pinned against the edge.

"I'm gonna c-" You scream, cutting yourself off as you clamp down hard around his cock. Squeezing him so tightly that you feel his pace momentarily stutter.

The force that he had to use to keep moving inside you finally cracks the base of the pew. Pulling it out of the bracket to secure it to the floor and the entire bench lurches forward. Still, he doesn't stop rocking into you, greedy to see you cum again even though you are still cumming around his cock.

You whimper beneath him as he fucks you harder and harder throughout your orgasm. Every ounce of hatred you'd ever felt for him melting as he plucks pleasure from you with nothing but ease. Each slam of his hips finding that pleasure center inside of you like it's all he's ever known.

"Fuck, fuck, of course you would be perfect." Max groans, closing his eyes as he continues to ram into you. "Fu-fuck hate me and it's the best fucking pussy l've ever had." He groans and gives into the need to kiss and lick your skin again. He knows you might struggle since his fangs are out, but he won't bite you. Not unless you wanted him to and there's not a chance in hell of that happening. "Fucking perfect."

"Bet y-you say that to all the g-girls -oh god yes - you fuck," you say with a little smirk. You're still unaware how quickly he pulled you under his spell but you're beyond caring, all you want is to feel him buried deep inside your needy pussy forever. "Cum for me, Max."

He shakes his head, not wanting to cum just yet. "Again." He begs, ducking down and kissing your pulse, letting his fangs brush your skin. "Not until you cum again.”

"I can't," you whimper from beneath him, unsure you have the energy to come apart around his cock again.

"Yes you can." Max groans, feeling your cunt flutter around him. He pulls back and lifts your legs up onto his shoulders. "I know you can, you can give me one more."

"One more," you agree meekly, as he resumes his relentless pace. His hips slapping against you with all his might, "Oh, fuck, Max," you groan as his two of his fingers find their way to your clit and start to circle it.

"That's it baby, fuck." Max hisses, loving how your body is responding to him. The heat licking through his veins is nearly tolerable as he steadily rocks his hips at a frantic speed. "Want you to feel good. So sweet for me like this."

"Feels amazing." You softly breath out as you reach down and grab his free hand. Entwining your fingers with his as you feel yourself start to lose control again.

This time when you come apart, Max is leaning in, groaning praises to you as he watches. "Good girl, fuck, so good for me." He moans. "Soaking my cock so good, fuck you feel how wet you get?"

"So fucking wet." you murmur in response, "Just for you.” His name is all you can manage to say again as the earth shatters around you as your third orgasm is ripped from you.

A growl rumbles out of Max's chest, eyes nearly yellow as his face starts to change. Brow knitting together and turning heavy. Cheek bones growing sharper, jaw wider. Turning into a visage of the monster that he is as you clench down on his cock.

"Bite me," you beg as you feel his cock throb inside of you. "Please, Max, please.”

He wants to, his mouth is watering at the idea of biting you and tasting your sweet blood. But as needy as his body is for yours, he can't. You were compelled to let him fuck you, whatever causing it making you lose your inhibitions. Never allowing him to come near you, let alone biting you. Instead of sinking his fangs into your skin, he digs his nails in and scrapes his fangs over the area lightly, never enough to break skin.

Your pussy aches as you clamp down around him, the feeling of his teeth against your skin somehow intensifying your orgasm as you scream his name. "Please, Max," you beg, unsure what you're really begging for. "Cum for me."

Max shouts your name, his voice rough and several octaves lower from the change he's gone through. Thrusting harshly twice more before he is grinding into you, pumping you full of his useless spend with agonizing slowness. Feeling the frantic need ebbing with every pulse of his cock.

You pass out from exhaustion the second he's finished painting your walls. Delirious from the best fucking you've had in your life, you mumble a small thank you before falling into a deep slumber.

Luckily, whatever madness had come over him was extinguished with his orgasm. Reaching out and caressing your face as you are completely unaware of anything around you. He grins, knowing he's not going to be able to keep from teasing you about this when you wake up. Max pulls out of you with a soft groan, standing up and quickly collecting the clothing so he can dress both you and himself. Since you can't take care of yourself, he'll take care of you himself.

****

You wake up abruptly in an unknown bedroom to muffled yelling in the next room. Sitting up straight you immediately feel the aching sensation in your core, your pussy throbbing from the hard fucking your taken a few hours before as the hazy memories start to flood back to you.

"I don't give a fuck if your busy." Max shouts, believing that you are still passed out. "They are obviously the ones who attacked her fiancé and I don't trust them to not come after her. I want them found and staked!"

You slowly climb out of the unfamiliar bed and make your way towards the door. Noticing that you've been dressed in one of his shirts as you do so. You creep towards the door and slowly open it.

"YES, I meant it when I said destroy them." Max growls into the phone. "They don't deserve to fucking spend another day on the earth. They attacked her. They die." He pulls the phone away from his ear and tosses it down on the counter and sighs dramatically. He had thought to take you back to your home, but then had worried that the two who had attacked you would trace you back to your place. The myth of needing permission to come in was bullshit and so he had carted you back to his place, wanting to keep you safe even though you still believed that he had attacked you.

You clear your throat as you walk towards him, "What happened last night?"

Max's head snaps towards the hallway leading to his bedroom and he finds you staring at him. "Do you want the long version or the short version?" He asks, turning towards the refrigerator that normally holds the blood bags he gets from the clinic. He had some groceries delivered while you were still out. Pulling a bottle of orange juice out and grabbing a glass from the cupboard.

"Short," you say with a shrug, slightly wincing as you lower yourself onto one of the kitchen stools.

Max can't help but smirk as you gingerly sit down. "Two vamps attacked you on your way to your car, I chased them off, you thought I was the one who tried to drink from you so you splashed Holy water in my face and I fucked you until you passed out in God's holy temple."

"Oh," is the only thing you can bring yourself to say as your fingertips tap against the glass he hands you, "Thank you for chasing them off."

Max pauses as he stretches out his hand to offer you the orange juice but he nods and sets it down in front of you. "You're welcome." He says simply. Unsure of what you are going to say now or accuse him of.

"I uh, I remember asking you to taste me," you say barely a register above a whisper, "And then the uh... the sex, but I don't remember anything about that."

"You passed out." Max puffs up with pride. "Came too much." He brags slightly. "I redressed you and carried you out to my car."

You scoff at his cockiness and roll your eyes. "Yeah sure,” you mock. "Definitely had nothing to do with the fact I was exhausted after almost being attacked AND working a 12 hour shift at a shitty bar."

"Small details." Of course you would never give him any kind of credit and he turns back towards the fridge. "Are you hungry? Since you were exhausted and attacked and worked 12 hours at a shitty bar?" He asks, looking over his shoulder.

"Kind of." You admit "But I can get going. I'm pretty sure you'd prefer not to have someone you hate in your bachelor pad."

"Stay." Max orders lightly, but there is no compulsion in his voice this time. "The vamps, the ones that attacked you, I don't - uh, they are being hunted down." He pulls out the food that had been brought and frowns. "After that, you can leave and never see me again

Taking the prepackaged sandwich from his hand you nod your head slightly, unsure what to say. "Thank you," you say with a brief smile, "For the sandwich. The shirt. And for saving my life. Just thanks."

"It's okay, sweetheart." He promises you. " I know that you aren't comfortable around me, so I'll go shower and work in my home office. You're safe here." He knocks on the counter and walks away, needing to get away from you. The urge to touch you again is too strong and he knows you wouldn't want that.

"Oh, okay," you say, unable to disguise your disappointment at him getting away at his first opportunity. "'ll go back to bed for a bit, I guess." You take another bite of the sandwich before disposing of the packaging and making your way back towards the bedroom.

Max sighs as he strips off his clothes and steps into the shower. He wants to think that you were disappointed but he knows you are probably jumping for joy to be away from him. The compulsion to fuck because of an adverse reaction to holy water didn't mean you liked him. "Just forget about it, Phillips."

Boredom gets the better of you after a few minutes. You climb back out of bed after hearing the shower switch on. Taking this as an opportunity to look around his apartment, when curiosity becomes too much to ignore.

Max leans into the hot water, enjoying the warmth on his skin, closing his eyes as he remembers how fucking perfect you felt around him. "Shit." He hisses, knowing that you are still in the kitchen so he doesn't hesitate to wrap his hand around his cock and tug to make himself hard. Wanting to jerk off and take the edge off this need he has.”

You spend a few minutes examining his bookcase and humming in approval at his taste in literature. Some muffled sounds come from the bathroom and you take a few quiet steps and hover outside the door to see what's going on in there. And then you hear it, barely above a whisper, a grunt of your name as it becomes apparent what he's doing in there. Your clit immediately roars to life with need as your thighs clench together.

"Fuck." Max hisses, the image of you under him swirling behind his lids. "Perfect, so fucking perfect." He squeezes his cock like your cunt had, wishing that he was sinking into you rather than fucking his fist in the shower. Rocking onto the balls of his feet as he strokes his cock furiously.

Unable to pull yourself away, you stand and listen before it gets too much. You hastily unbutton his shirt and roll down your panties before reaching for the doorknob, relief that he hadn't locked it sweeping throughout you. Silently you enter the bathroom slipping unnoticed in the shower behind him. Your hand wraps around his waist and the other pulls his hand away from his throbbing cock, and you replace it with your own. Matching the same aggressive speed he was stroking himself with a few seconds before.

Max's stomach muscles coil when you touch him. So lost in the memory of last night that he hadn't even heard you come in. "Fuck." He pants out, hips jerking forward into your grip. "What- fuck, what are you doing?" He grunts, half believing that he is imagining you here.

"You want me to stop?" You ask as you tighten your grip around his cock.

"No, fuck no." He groans, leaning his head against the tile. "You - you hate me." He reminds you. "Why do you want to jerk me off?"

"Maybe I just want to edge you," you tease as you bite down onto his shoulder, "Maybe I want to feel you deep inside me again."

"You're sore." His eyes flutter closed and he jerks his hips forward. "I- you'll hurt."

"I guess you'll just have to be a little less rough this time."

"I- I have a bench." Max pants, smirking slightly. "You could ride me.”

"Mhmmm," you hum as you think about how much bigger he'd feel from that angle. "Take a seat then, Mr Phillips

It's strange how quickly you've gone from hating him to wanting him. Still, he doesn't argue, moving over to the bench and sitting down to spread his legs wide and let his hard cock rest against his stomach. "Come have a seat sweetheart."

You don't know why you're craving him so badly, maybe it's because he still saved your sorry ass after everything, you don't know. You rest your hands on his shoulders as you straddle him, watching as he lines his cock up ready for you to sink down on him. He was right. You're sore but you push past it and get ready to feel the pleasure you know he's capable of giving.

His fingers dig into your hips, trying to keep you from going too fast. Wanting to spare you as much pain as possible "Take it easy baby." He groans. "Not too fast, I'll fuck you like you need."

"Do it then," you demand with a cheeky grin splashed across your face. "Fuck me, Max Phillips."

Max captures your chin in his hand and turns your head towards him. "Kiss me first." He challenges you. "I'll fuck you after you kiss me." Ironic since his cock is buried inside you, but he could live right here and be perfectly fine.

You raise your eyebrow in confusion at him, wondering if he's playing a game right now. And after a few moments of looking directly into those big brown eyes you give in. Your hands come up to grip either side of his head before you press your lips to his. Licking his bottom lip to gain entry before pushing your tongue inside and tasting his mouth.

Max groans, his own tongue sweeping along yours, kissing you for the first time. Sliding his hands up your back and holding you firmly as he lets you explore him, plundering your mouth in return, twitching inside you.

"Max," you moan against his lips, "Please fuck me," you beg before kissing him again and rocking your hips. Grinding slowly on him.

He starts to move, lifting and lowering you on his cock as he continues to kiss you. Keeping it slow so you can not ache as badly right away.

Slowly you start to take control, riding him at a delicious pace, his cock brushing against that spot inside of you. Opening your eyes you see him staring intently at your face, a slight cocky grin on his face as you smash your lips up against his.

Groaning, he tightens his hold on you, leaning forward and bracing his feet on the shower floor while you bounce on his cock. Flicking his tongue inside your mouth as your tits press against him and your walls clench. "Still so good." He pants. "Tight little pussy."

You keen at his praise, loving the way you've somehow gotten under his skin as well. "You like fucking this tight little pussy, Max?" You ask as innocently as you can.

"Fuck." Max leans in and nips the skin on your collar bone. "Love it. Fucking obsessed with it. Took it so well last night."

"Why didn't you bite me?" You ask as his teeth scrape against your soft skin. "Last night... when I asked?"

Max pulls back, his eyes focused on you in a very serious moment. He knows he's a dick, that he comes across as careless, but the majority of that is a facade. "I- I was... projecting my compulsion last night." He admits. “I couldn't stop it. Whatever reaction to that holy water was, it was making you want to fuck me, and I needed to be inside you. But..." he grips your hips harder and relaxes his hold on you to caress the skin. "Biting you was something I thought you would never want. And I - I didn't want you to hate me more than you already did."

"Oh," you say, resuming the soft rocking of your hips, "I uh-I don't hate you. It's just tough for me... I know you don't understand."

"I wasn't always a vampire." Max reminds you, his human days still not too far away that he doesn't remember them. "And maybe you can move on when the vampires who killed your fiancé are destroyed."

"Mhmm," you reply before pressing your lips to his, kissing him long and hard, before playfully teasing him, "Thought you were going to make me cum, Mr Phillips?"

The serious moment has passed it seems and Max groans. Starting to move faster now that you are opened up and not wincing when you are filled with him.

You see the disappointment in his eyes when you change the subject, but something tells you that having a serious conversation when he's buried deep inside your needy pussy isn't the smartest of ideas.

You bounce up and down on his length, the angle making you cry out in pleasure with every slam of hips against you. You feel your walls start to flutter against him and know that you're seconds away from falling off the edge.

"God you're so desperate for it." Max chuckles, deciding if you want him to fuck you, that's what you're going to get. He lets one hand slide out and slap your tit before his thumb presses against your clit. "If I had know that, I would have just kept fucking you while you were passed out. Kept you speared on my cock all night."

"Should have," you choke out with a sob, "Fuck.. Could have woken me up with your fat cock this morning."

Max twitches inside you, enjoying the small gasp and the way your nails dig into his skin. He thrusts up to bounce you harder on him. "I'll remember that." He groans.

"I bet you will," you say with a giggle as you start to grind down harder on him, desperate to fall off that edge and come undone on his cock.

Now all he can hear is the water of the shower and the desperate little sounds you make in the back of your throat. Urging him on and making him rock his hips up faster. "You gonna cum again?" He demands, not growling but his voice is deeper.

"Yes." Every thrust of his cock is harder than the one before, slamming against paradise as his deft fingers continue to play with your bundle of nerves. "Feel... Feel so good, Max," you murmur over and over until you're unable to speak. The only sounds slipping from your tongue are broken moans and sobs as you're thrown spectacularly into another earth shattering orgasm.

Max could keep going, maybe he should since you seem to be the softest towards him when he's buried in your cunt, but he doesn't want to hurt you. Aware that humans have limits to what their bodies can take, Max tightens his hold on your trembling body as he quickens his thrusts to chase his own orgasm.

"Fill me up," you plead as he starts to throb inside of you, "Want you to drip out of me for the rest of the day."

Max hisses, baring his teeth, though his fangs aren't showing. Thrusts steadily getting sloppier until he is crushing you to him, cock planted as deep as he can go as he spills inside you.

"God," you moan with a giggle, "So the secret to shutting Max Phillips up is pussy. Good to know."

Max smirks and winks. "I can multitask if needed." He leans back against the shower wall and relaxes, enjoying the way you shift forward with him.

You let your head forward and nestle your face against his neck, giving yourself a few minutes to catch your breath, before a loud ringing makes him shoot upright. Pushing you off of him before he climbs out of the shower.

Max walks through his apartment, completely unconcerned with the water dripping off of him as he speeds towards his phone. "Yeah." He demands as he answers it.

You step out of the shower and wrap yourself in one of the towels from the rack, standing awkwardly behind him as he takes the call.

"Both of them?" Max frowns into the phone before he grins. "Good. Thanks. Now make sure that the legal report is completed by Monday."

"Who was that?" You ask sheepishly from behind him.

"Arnold. From legal." Max smirks happily as he drops the phone back down on the counter and looks at you, "if you're going to have vampires destroyed, have the lawyers do it. They are used to getting messy."

"So, they're dead? The vampires who killed my Jake are gone?" You ask, needing to hear it again.

"Dead." Max confirms with a nod. "I heard them talk about him right before they attacked you."

"Dead," you repeat quietly. Unsure why it doesn't feel as good as you'd imagined it would feel. Maybe it's because it would never bring him back to you. "I should go then, I'll get out of your hair."

Max opens his mouth to protest but then he shuts it, knowing that you don't need a vampire around you to process. "Sure, sweetheart." He nods, shuttering his expression. "I went back and got your car, so it's here. Your clothes are in the dryer."

"Thanks," you say, “I uh, I appreciate that you saved me last night and I'm sorry for assuming the worst in you." You give him a small smile before making your way towards the dryer and collecting your things. Dressing as quickly as you can and sneaking out of his apartment without another word.

Max hears the click of the door and closes his eyes. Not understanding why you hating him has him pouting like he's lost a toy. Of course you don't want anything to do with him. He had only been able to touch you because he had compelled you. "Move on, Phillips. Don't let it bother you." Still, for a long time after you have gone, he wonders why he can't stop thinking about how you looked when you smiled at him.

The drive back to your apartment is quick, no mid morning traffic to keep you wallowing in the confused feelings clouding up your mind. The second you're inside you lock the door behind you and run yourself a hot bath, being a little too generous with the epsom salts in the process and stripping yourself down. The ache he left in your core is throbbing and you take two Advil to settle the soreness before climbing into the bath. Your mind drifts back to the previous night in the church and how your body was so receptive to everything he did to you. And despite the fact you know he was projecting his needs onto you, you can't help but think about how you still could have refused him but didn't. And on top of that you followed him into the shower earlier, desperate to feel him in your hands as you pumped his rock hard cock and felt yourself dripping from touching him alone.

Has he gotten under your skin? No. You shake the thought away. There is no way that you like Max Phillips. Absolutely not.

****

He almost calls you, or stops by your apartment. He knows where you live, but he doesn't. You hadn't said a word to him when you left and it spoke volumes of how you wanted to proceed. Instead, Max shuffles through applications for the sales position you had vacated, not finding anyone he wanted to hire to take your place.

It's been three days since you saw Max and you hadn't been able to bring yourself to complete another bar shift. Instead you wake up early and dress yourself as nicely but professionally as you can and make your way back to your old work building. Taking a few moments outside before gathering the strength to go inside and ask for another chance. With your head held high you walk towards your ex-bosses office and knock the door a few times and wait to be invited in.

"Yeah-" Max looks up from the report he had been reading and freezes when he sees you standing in the doorway. "What-" he stands quickly and motions you inside, frowning in confusion when he sees the smart professional outfit you are wearing. "What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping I could apply for my old job," you say with a sigh. "I just can't afford to live without it."

Max eyebrow ticks up in surprise and he holds his hand out for you to sit in the chair opposite him. "I take it that you would rather not?" He asks, oddly hurt by how resigned you sound.

"I would like my job back," you say with a bit more enthusiasm, "It's just not easy having to ask, ya know?"

Max knows that swallowing your pride is difficult and he can't seem to tease you like he might have before. "Are you going to be able to work for me?" He asks.

"Are you going to tell everyone about what happened?" You ask, feeling your cheeks burn.

"No." Max shakes his head. He hadn't said a word about what had actually happened that night. It was a memory he wanted to keep for himself.

"I just don't want people accusing me of sleeping with to get my job back," you say quietly. "I don't want you to think that either."

Max snorts and sends you an ironic grin. "You and I both know that if it hadn't been for that night, you would have never let me touch you." He spreads his hands out over the resumes that have been lackluster. "I haven't hired anyone for the position."

You laugh at his admission, "You say that as though you would have touched me if I didn't throw holy water at you. And good... So, can I have my job back?"

He's frustrated that you still believe that he has some grudge against you. Leaning back and shaking his head. "Not until you tell me why you think I hate you." He demands. "What reason? What did I do that said that?"

"You hovered over me your entire first day? You made it clear you didn't think I was capable of my job, Max." You sigh. "Look if you'd rather I didn't get my job back that's fine, I haven't quit at the bar yet."

"Oh. Seriously?" Max leans back and shakes his head. "I hovered because you consistently had good numbers. I wanted to see what you were doing differently from the other morons." He rolls his eyes and shrugs. "Then when I saw you didn't like me, I pushed your buttons. I'm an asshole like that. But I never thought you weren't capable of doing your job."

"It was raw." You pull at your sleeve and look down at your lap. "Jake's death wasn't taken seriously, it was just treated like something that was inevitable because we live in a community with vampires. It was hard for me, and you didn't have any issues hiding what you were, not that I think you should. And I'm sorry."

Max shakes his head, aware that he's had some relaxed attitudes about his kind, but he understands where you are coming from. "I'm sorry they didn't treat your fiance's death like it mattered." He hums quietly. "Now, go down to IT, get your logins sorted and i'll deal with HR. I've been sitting on your paperwork anyway." He shrugs causally. "You actually just were on unpaid leave, but since you're back, we can change it to paid."

"Thank you, Mr Phillips. I really appreciate this." It doesn't take long for IT to get you up and running again and you're happy to see that your desk hadn't been cleared out and was still set up how you like it. The rest of the morning is spent taking calls and booking a few big trips.

He makes sure that he doesn't venture too close to you, wanting to make sure you settle in and get back into the routine without him 'hovering'. He has a few performance reviews, changes Phil in accounting and has a snack off the temp secretary, Brenda. Typing up an excerpt in a file when the 5PM alarm sounds and everyone starts to clock out and go home for the night.

The rush around you makes you laugh as you decide to stay and rifle through the emails you'd missed over the last week just to get all caught up. Once everyone's gone and the room has cleared you pick up your coffee cup and make your way to the break room to grab a cup of coffee.

There aren't many nights when Max isn't the only one in the office, the vamps are going out to have fun and the humans are all just ready to go home. He hears someone in the break room and gets up to go investigate.

You hum along to the radio still playing quietly overhead, the cleaners will switched it off later this evening but it's nice to have it on whilst you're all alone. You sway your hips whilst filling up your mug and enjoy having your pick of the cookies without someone trying to grab the best ones.

Max smirks, leaning in the doorway and watching you for a moment. "Happy to be back, huh?"

"Oh shit," you say with a jump, spilling half your coffee over your blouse, "Fuck, I'm so sorry! I thought I was alone.”

Max chuckles and shakes his head. "I'm enjoying the show." He tells you with a smirk, imagining you naked dancing.

"Mhmm," you say as you blot the burning hot coffee on your now very see-through blouse. You giggle before throwing the cloth at him, "Glad I can entertain you."

Max huffs and snatched the rag. "You didn't burn yourself did you? Don't want a workman's comp claim." He winks at you because he's teasing.

"I'm about to go call my lawyer this minute," you tease back, "Going to take you for everything you have."

"Well damn." He snaps his fingers and pouts. "Don't know what I will do. Maybe I can kiss it and make it better?"

You know you shouldn't be doing this here, but you can't deny the dynamic between you both has changed. And you've been craving him every second since you left his apartment a few days earlier. "That could work." You take a few steps towards him and bite down on your lip. "But wouldn't you rather I do the other thing? Seeing as the other night you kept telling me how good I am at taking it all."

Immediately, Max's cock starts to harden, his teasing grin becoming a bit more lusty. "You want to step into my office, sweetheart? Work overtime?"

"Kiss me first," you order, copying his request from a few days earlier.

Smirking, Max grabs your arms and pulls you down into a low dip that makes you gasp. Tilting you down like the romantic movies of old, his kiss is anything but. His tongue promises nothing but pleasure as he licks through your mouth and pulls you upright again. "Step into my office, right now sweetheart." He growls.

"Fuck," you mouth as he starts to walk towards his office, you follow closely behind on shaky legs. "Am I really about to let you rail me in your office?"

"Yes you are." Max smugly turns in the doorway and motions for you to enter in front of him. "Because you know how good it feels and you want more."

"I remember it being... just okay," you tease, unable to stop yourself from riling him up a little. "Come on then, Phillips. I do not need the cleaners to see this."

Max snorts and closes the door behind him, clicking the lock although he knows the cleaning crew won't just walk into his office. "Happy now? All alone."

Without saying a word you walk around his desk and take a seat on his chair, starting to unbutton your ruined blouse and dropping it on the floor before removing your pants.

He watches, admiring the view and the change of attitude towards him. The last time you had been in this office besides today, you had been angry and argumentative but now..... He smirks. "Get on my desk and spread your legs for me baby."

"Yes, Sir," you say with a smile, still wearing your underwear.

You stand up and take a seat on his desk directly in front of his chair and spread your legs as commanded.

He rolls his eyes and huffs as he shrugs the jacket off his shoulders and moves towards you. "Still such a brat." He grins. "Wanna throw holy water at me again?"

"Do you need it, old man?" You say as you start to unbutton his shirt. "Is that the vampire version of a little blue pill?"

His grin drops into a pout and he blows a raspberry at you. "I don't need a little blue pill. Ever."

"Shut the fuck up and fuck me, Phillips." You say with a roll of your eyes. "I'd like to get out of here tonight."

"So a quickie?" Max nods and unzips his pants. "That can happen. Even more than you realize." He chuckles. "Turn over. I'm gonna fuck you from behind."

You roll your eyes at the thought of him fucking someone else in here and slowly turn around, "Fuck me then."

"Ohhhh, someone's not happy." He coos, reaching out and slapping your ass. "Why is that, baby?"

"You're taking too long." You lie before rubbing up against him. "It's been days. I need to feel you again."

"Impatient." Max smirks and pulls out his cock to pump it a few times before he shuffles closer and kicks your feet apart so he slides his cock through your folds. "You feel so goddamn good." He hisses at your wetness.

The noise that you make as hell drags his cock through your folds is drenched in sin. You don't want him to stop teasing you but you can't take another second of him not being buried inside of you. "Please, Max."

Instead of easing inside you this time, he decides to notch himself as your dripping entrance and snaps his hips forward and buries his cock deep in one, rough thrust.

The wind is knocked out of you as he fills your tight little cunt. Your walls immediately gripping onto his fat cock as you attempt to catch your breath before he starts to move.

"Feel better sweetheart?" Max coos in your ear, enjoying the way you can barely cry out and he kisses behind your ear before he starts moving at a harsh pace.

Unable to form a coherent sentence, you simply nod. Gripping harshly onto the wooden desk as he relentlessly pounds in and out of you. Fucking you hard and fast without a care in the world.

"Yeah, you feel better." He answers his own question as he snaps his hips forward again and again. Rattling the pen cup on his desk and making it shake. "Should- should just make you sit on my cock all day at work."

You hate how you react to that immediately clamping down around the length of him and gasping at the thought of it. "Fuck," you barely croak out as you start to move your hips.

"That's it baby." Max's body crowds you, wraps around you as he fills you again and again. "Let me know how it feels."

"So good," you murmur into the desk. "You feel so fucking good. Too good."

"Never too good." He kisses along your neck and presses his tongue to your pulse. "Never too good, baby. You feel so fucking perfect around my cock. You like it? Getting fucked by a vampire?"

"Nope, I just think I like you fucking me." you say as he hits something glorious inside of you, "Fuck, just there Max," you plead.

Max hums, approving of your answer and concentrating on replicating the angle that makes your toes curl and your cunt clench.

"Make me cum," you start to beg as his thrusts continue to knock the wind out of you, "Let me soak that fat cock."

"Fuck you know how to talk to me." Max groans, sliding his hands up to pinch your nipples while he fucks you into the desk.

You gasp at his harsh treatment of your nipples but he can feel the way it makes you clamp down around him, "Fucking love that big fat cock."

Max chuckles. "So what you are saying is that when you start getting mouthy, I should just shove my cock in it?"

"Maybe. Maybe I'll just sit on your face every time you start to be an annoying asshole."

"Now that's just going to make me be more of an asshole." Max teases, leaning in and biting your shoulder, without the fangs.

"Yeah?" You moan as his teeth graze your neck, "Is that what you need, baby? Need me to sit this tight little pussy on that handsome face of yours?" The position he has you in makes it difficult for you to move, his body boxing yours against his big desk. All you can do is clamp your walls down around him.

"Fuck yes." Max groans. "Especially when you're on your period."

"Fuck." The men you'd been with before refused to touch you during your period, and the idea of him using his mouth on you whilst your bleeding almost sends you over the cliff at that moment.

"Yeah ..you like that." Max huffs in your ear. "You can sit that little bleeding cunt on my mouth all day. I'll just lick you clean until you can't take another orgasm."

"Oh fuck." Your thighs start to shake as he pushes you close to the edge, the way his cock hammers into your g-spot paired with the filth he whispers into your ears is too much. You let go with a breathy moan of his name and everything goes black. Pleasure coursing through your veins.

You cumming around him is something that Max wants to experience every day. You get so tight and wet. Making him snarl out your name as the wet slaps of his cock drilling into you ramp up so he can cum.

You lay against his desk, unable to move as you come down slowly. Waiting to feel him fill you up, the sound of sick slapping against skin bounces off the walls as you lay there in your blissed out haze.

It takes another dozen thrust before Max is cumming, scraping the desk across the carpeted floor as he buries his cock deep, groaning happily as he fills you again. "Thank god my seed is dead." He jokes. "Because I would have definitely just got you pregnant."

You giggle before pushing yourself up a little, his softening cock still buried deep inside of you as you look over your shoulder. "That was incredible. Fuck. How am I supposed to sit a few feet away from your office and fight the urge to come in and ride you everyday?"

"Don't." Max smirks. "Or come over every night to ride it."

"You'd get sick of the sight of me, or start fucking other people as well." He slowly pulls himself out of you and you stand upright on slightly shaky legs before turning around to face him, "And I don't share."

Max snorts and lifts a brow. "Who says I share?" He asks. "If you want it to be causal, that's fine. If you want more...." He tucks himself away and zips up. "Let me know."

You can't help but raise an eyebrow at him as you reach for your panties. "Didn't peg you as the kind of guy that's interested in more?"

Max rolls his eyes and grabs your arm, dragging you close. Your squeal of surprise is masked by his mouth covering yours less than a second later in a needy kiss.

He kisses you for ages, pressing himself against you as his mouth dominates yours in a messy battle. A week ago you wouldn't have dreamed about kissing him but you feel a stab of sadness in your chest at the thought of never kissing him again. You slowly break free of the kiss and rest your forehead against his, "I want more."

"Good." He murmurs softly. "I want more too."

"Good." You finish getting yourself dressed as he tidies up the mess you've made on his desk. "So where do we go from here?"

Max flashes you a grin. "That's up to you, sweetheart. But let's get take out, I'm starving." He chuckles. "How does Chinese sound?"

"As long as you're paying," you say before reaching out for him to take your hand. "Let's go."

****

"What do you want, baby? Hmmmm?" Max kisses as licks along your neck while you grind your hips down on him. One year later, you are still wanting to be with him, which surprises and delights Max. His own need and connection to you grew to the point where he had asked you to give up your apartment since you were always over at his anyway. Living together, or rather, cohabitating since he technically wasn't alive.

"You know what I want, asshole," you say with a groan. He's still a massive tease after a year and loves nothing more than making you beg. "I love you, Max Phillips, I want to spend an eternity with you. Bite me."

"Hmmm, I swear if my heart was still beating it would flutter." He muses, actually really touched by you wanting to become a vampire when you had hated all creatures of the night when he first met you. His nose bumps your pulse. "Are you sure baby?" He pulls back and looks into your eyes seriously. "There's no changing your mind if I do it."

"Yeah? Would I have THE Max Phillips swooning?" You say with a slight poke of his shoulder. "Yes. I am sure. You promised you'd help me and make sure I don't hurt anyone and I trust that you'll do that... Plus I've grown accustomed to that annoyingly handsome face of yours."

"I am handsome, aren't I?" Max preens and grins at you smugly, laughing when you roll your eyes at him. "I love you, baby." He promises, just as serious as he had been when he cautioned you.

"Eh, you're okay." You giggle. "I love you, Max." You press your lips against his and give him a reassuring nod that this is what you want.

"Okay." Max presses his lips to yours one last time as a human. "Close your eyes, baby." He tilts your head to the side and licks your pulse one last time, letting his fangs spring down from his gums. "Let me show you a whole new world." Opening his mouth wide, Max sinks his fangs into your jugular and moans, finally getting to do what he wanted to nearly a year ago when you had flung holy water in his face. Make you his for eternity.

#pedro pascal #max phillips #max phillips x f!reader #max phillips x you #max phillips x reader #max phillips smut #max phillips fanfiction #max phillips imagine #max phillips bloodsucking bastards

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grahamfolgersdeliciousnotebooks · 5 months ago

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20 questions for fic writers

[EDIT: sorry if you got a notification that you were tagged in this post even though I didn't tag you. Tumblr's being weird about this one.]

Tagged by @cirrus-grey - thank you! (Also, sorry this took me like three months to do, executive dysfunction is a hell of a thing)

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

197,768

3. What fandoms do you write for?

The only fandom I've written for as an adult has been the Magnus Archives (and I actually have a lot of thoughts on why tma was sort of a perfect storm for getting me back into creating and consuming fanfic, but I'll spare you for now). There are a couple other fandoms I wrote for when I was in middle school back in the fanfic(.)net days, but some things are better left in the past.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Say You Love Me (Learn to Lie)

I'll take "A Flagrant Misuse of Beholding Powers" for 200

stay with me, hold my hand

Come, my dear, and be a part of my home

please, hurry, leave me, I can't breathe (please don't say you love me)

5. Do you respond to comments?

Sometimes. I really want to get more consistent about it, but my executive dysfunction makes it hard. My big problem now is that it feels weird to go back and respond to comments I got months ago, but it also feels rude to respond to more recent comments without ever responding to those older ones, so I'm feeling kind of stuck. One day, though, my ADHD will be properly medicated and I will get back to responding to every comment I get.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Angst is one of those things that I love to read but don't always think to write, so pretty much all of my fics have happy endings atm. The only ones that can really be said to have angsty endings are the pre-Unknowing and safehouse fics where the knowledge of what will happen next in canon makes any ending automatically bittersweet. With that in mind, let's go with Hold My Hand When My Courage Fails, because I DO think a pre-Unknowing kiss makes season 4 angstier.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Like I said, I write almost entirely happy endings, so it's hard to narrow this one down. I'm gonna go with Say You Love Me (Learn to Lie) because I threw in the completely unnecessary (but still necessary to me) detail that Sasha survives the Prentiss incident at the end of that one.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No! I've been very lucky on that front.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I haven't, though I might someday. As an ace person (somewhere in the sex-nuetral/sex-averse realm) I don't feel super confident in my ability to write good smut. It's really intimidating, but I'd love to try some day.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Not really? The only thing I've written that could be crossover is my fic where Jonathan Sims competes on Jeopardy!, but I'm not really sure that counts.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that I know of.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

My AO3 history should make it clear I'm pretty fond of Jonmartin, but I'm also a big Griddlehark (tlt) fan.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I've started a tma fic that's essentially a Marple AU (with Gertrude as the Miss Marple surrogate) that plays with the idea of sleuth-as-Beholding-avatar, but it's very tricky to blend all the plot threads I want to include together into one cohesive mystery, so I don't know if it will ever get finished.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I'll be honest, I don't think I'm a very good judge of my own writing, especially my strengths. It's not that I think I'm a bad writer necessarily, but I really struggle to pinpoint any one thing that I do well - especially because for every aspect of my writing I like, I can point to five writers in the same fandom who do that much better. Right now I'm just glad I'm getting stuff written at all.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I worry that my characterizations tend to be pretty thin. I also struggle in juggling more than a few characters at a time, and sometimes I will omit characters who logically should be in a fic just because I can't think of anything for them to do.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I don't have anything against it. I could see people running into problems if they write dialogue in a language they themselves don't speak (relying on Google translate, for instance) but in general I don't see anything wrong with it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

The Uglies series by Scott Westerfield, back when I was in middle school.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Don't make me choose!

I might have to go with Say You Love Me (Learn to Lie) because that was the most fun I've ever had writing and publishing a fic - the response to that one was really great, and since that was one of the only times I actually managed a consistent release schedule, it felt really nice having that to look forward to every Tuesday.

But SYLM(LTL) was my answer for like half of these questions, so I'll also throw out Cut My Hair and Changed My Face (I'm Learning How to Forget That Place). I did a pretty terrible job of tagging that one and it didn't get a lot of hits, but it's one of my favorites. I love s4 Jmart angst, I love Jon & Daisy's s4 friendship, and I frankly can't believe it took me so long to write a fic combining the two.

#thanks for tagging me! sorry i took forever to respond #fanfiction #my fic

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bloodiedrogue · 1 year ago

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LESSONS IN CONFESSING (5)

SUMMARY: You and Peter go on a little field trip!

PAIRING: Miguel O'Hara & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 7,023

WARNINGS: Angst, canon typical violence, misuse of a hockey stick, descriptions of a panic attack, a little bit of comfort at the end I SWEAR.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, hope you guys are liking the fic so far. I'll be honest we only have one chapter left! At least... of this arc. >:)

CHAPTER LIST / LAST CHAPTER / MASTERLIST

The feeling of his lips still lingers as you crash to the ground. In a heap of pain, you crumple to the floor ass first, your head barely missing the leg of your bed frame, causing you to let out a frustrated huff and bring your hands to your eyes, palming the sockets in frustration because what the fuck was that?

The last thing you expected going into this was a kiss. Really anything other than an earful of curse words and repeated avoidance was all you anticipated. You didn’t think in a million years he’d kiss you and then shove you through a goddamn portal!

“What the fuck, man?”

You’re not sure whether to cry or laugh as you lay there, shell-shocked over the whole ordeal. Nothing about that interaction made much sense now that you’re thinking about it. Instead of exhibiting his usual aggression, Miguel tried to reason with you, his voice almost apologetic as you screamed in his face demanding answers. In the moment you didn’t notice, but now that you’re away you can see everything differently —clearly in a way that has you squinting at the ceiling trying to remember.

His body looked different, almost smaller. His eyes, no longer in their usual narrowed stance, looked soft. Worried. As if your presence there was less so an annoyance and more of an actual problem. Not to mention the coolness of his voice. Usually, Miguel’s as hotheaded as they come so to hear a tone without any fight behind it felt unusual. Wrong in a way that makes you wonder what the hell changed. In those short hours between conversations what happened that made his hostility subside?

And what the fuck is Alchemex?

Shooting upward, you make a beeline for your desk. As per usual it’s a mess, covered in empty bottles of beer and Gatorade as well as protein bar wrappers. Angrily, you swat a pile of the latter away, cursing under your breath as you turn on your laptop, groaning at the streamline of notifications that begin to roll in. Where are you? Sweetheart, are you okay? Call me when you get this. Pete’s looking for you!

There’s about nearly thirty or so texts synching in through your phone. Most of them are from Peter and May, but sprinkled in between there’s a few from Gwen and MJ too, all of them filled with words of worry making you swear again and race to the living room. You’re pretty sure you left your phone on the coffee table. It’s either there or somewhere on the couch, you guess, sprinting across the hardwood floor only to stop in your tracks, noticing Peter.

His back is to you but regardless, you can see that he’s talking to someone through his watch, his voice low and broken. You figure whoever’s on the other end of that call is probably telling him what happened. Either then or bad-mouthing him for doing a bad job of keeping this all a secret. For letting his stupid, civilian sister jump into another world unsupervised.

“Thanks, I uh, gotta’ go.”

It’s the one thing you hear before he turns to face you, eyes narrowing to take in your dishevelled appearance.

“Where the hell did you go?”

Fuck, he’s mad. Not that that’s surprising. You’d be mad too if you were in his shoes. It’s just you’re not used to mad Peter. Peter whose eyes are barely visible through the rage that collects across his brow. Peter who crosses his arms over his chest and anxiously taps his foot just like Ben when you were kids.

“Out?”

He scoffs, loudly. Angrily. A loud eruption of reverberation that has you closing your eyes and flinching, waiting for the impact. “Out? Are you kidding me? I leave for five seconds and somehow you end up across the universe by yourself with no phone?”

“Would a phone even work in—“

“You’re lucky Hobie was there. If it were anyone else you could’ve gotten in serious trouble.”

You open your mouth to argue but ultimately stop, realizing he’s right. You did something recklessly stupid. Something you promised to never do since he got bit by that spider and started swinging through the city fighting crime so you and the rest of his family would be safe.

“I’m sorry.”

As expected, he ignores your apology, groaning as he pinches the bridge of his nose and begins to pace. “I mean, seriously, what were you thinking? Had it ever occurred to you that maybe following me into a portal was maybe not the greatest idea?”

“Well yeah, of course I thought about it.”

“Did you really?”

You did, obviously. You thought about it for as long as you could before you decided, but he’ll never know that. Not with how fucking stubborn he’s being. “Look, I only followed you because I thought you’d be on the other side! If I’d of known you’d be long gone already I wouldn’t have jumped!”

“Somehow I highly doubt that.”

You can’t help but frown knowing this is a losing argument. No matter what you say or do will end in an ever-growing rift. Peter’s trust in you will falter the longer you speak and all you can think about is how much you don’t want that.

You’ve already lost the trust of one Spider-Man tonight. You don’t need to lose another.

Defeated, you cover your face in your hands, letting out a heavy breath as you walk toward the kitchen to grab the scotch.

“Oh, please don’t bring that out.” Peter groans as you grab the bottle along with the usual glasses, flashing him the most apologetic smile you can muster as you usher him to the couch and begin your ritual.

“I don’t want to drink with you.”

“Then don’t. Just sit.”

Thanks to Miguel’s past visits the bottle’s pretty much gone anyway. A detail you can tell confuses Peter as you empty the last of its contents into the glasses and set one in front of him.

“Look, I’m sorry I jumped into another dimension without your permission. I had —I mean—“

“Are you okay?”

You stop, confused. Peter always asks if you’re okay. Unlike most, he’s actually considerate of the way you feel in stressful situations, but something about the way he asks this time feels different. Unplanned. Spontaneous in a way he wasn’t necessarily prepared for.

“Yeah, why?”

“The scotch is gone.”

“So?”

“You only ever bring it out when I’m here,” he points out.

“Usually.”

“Usually?”

You nod, reaching for your glass to take a sip. When it hits your lips you can’t help but cringe, suddenly feeling wrong. As if the taste inside your mouth has been replaced with something inherently false.

“You’re hiding something.”

“No.”

You are. Sort of. At least, you didn’t realize you were until now. Over the course of the last few months, you figured Peter knew about Miguel’s visits. About his weird, overbearing boss hopping through your window semi-regularly to get patched up and sleep on your couch. It seemed like something he would mention, given the amount of intimacy you shared when you cleaned his wounds. All those countless nights of scotch fuelled arguments and the never-ending debate of identity.

Stupidly, you assumed Miguel told Peter everything, but now that you’re sitting next to him, glancing between the empty bottle and his troubled expression, you know that he didn’t. Not a single fucking word was uttered between the two of them and now you’re the one that has to bear the news.

“You’re horrible, you know that?”

If you weren’t already so stressed you’d laugh. But considering everything that’s happened over the course of twenty-four or so odd hours (maybe, honestly you have no idea at this point) you’re too exhausted.

“God, this is all so messed up.”

You’re at your wit's end, falling into the abyss. Your head is hurting and your chest feels like it’s a ticking time bomb with the way your heart rate suddenly rises. In the corner of your eye, you can see Peter’s face begin to soften, his eyes floating in a space between stern and concern. Ever so slowly he inches closer to you on the couch, pulling you tightly against his chest as you inhale a little hard and find yourself struggling to get it back out. At which point, the air in your lungs grows three sizes, filling the cavity of your chest; tightening around your innards like a half-tied noose ready to slide into its final form.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.”

His voice is simultaneously beside you and distant. The way it sounds is morphed by the time it hits your ears, distorting in waves as if you’re falling further into the ocean. You can’t hear or breathe and as time passes you can feel your vision start to go fuzzy as you try to focus on the glass in front of you.

It makes you think of Miguel, stupidly. Of all those nights spent sitting beside each other, talking about whatever topic of interest arose in the moment. Somehow, despite the countless hours spent together, the level of importance in those conversations was minimal, ranging from things like favourite dog breeds to the most influential shows of the 90s.

In those moments, the details he gave were vague, bordering on mass-produced opinions rather than ones of his own. Each time he answered one of your questions you were sceptical of his answer, always raising your brow in question before diving into some bullshit debate.

Staring at the fuzzy outline of the glass, you wonder if any of what he said was actually true. If he actually preferred baseball over football. If he thought video games were a pointless medium. If he favoured the smokier scotches over the brinier ones.

In the moment he could’ve said anything and you’d partially believe it. Out of the desire to know more about him, there was always this sliver of acceptance. This willingness to give him the benefit of the doubt, especially with the easy topics. Revealing to you his favourite things seemed pretty low on the overall secrecy scale, so it always felt like there might be some truth there. A desire of his own to offer up a part of himself.

You know now it was probably all a lie. Every last word uttered inside your cramped apartment was nothing more than a diversion tactic to keep himself guarded and fell for it like some fucking idiot.

God, you hate him. More than what you started with, your hatred grows as you pull yourself from Peter’s grasp and steady your breath, wiping your face in the process.

He doesn’t deserve your tears. Or any time spent thinking of how that kiss made you feel so completely full and warm and —fuck, enough of that.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you lie, hoping he’ll drop it; knowing he won’t.

“Okay, well we both know that’s a lie.”

You roll your eyes and watch as he downs the liquor in front of him, barely even registering the strength as he swallows it whole. “Fuck you and your stupid spider senses.”

“I think this time they’re just plain old Parker ones.”

“That’s even worse.”

“Sure is, now spill.”

It’s hard to come up with the right words, at first. Each time you open your mouth, ready to tell him everything you’re met with a reluctant nagging at the back of your head, telling you to shut up. To keep this all a secret because it’s classified. But then you remember this isn’t about him. It’s about you in this universe among all the other ones.

“Before I start, I uh —I need you to promise you’re not going to tell anyone. Like, seriously anyone.”

Peter looks at you with questionable eyes, obviously wondering what you mean as you sigh and begin to go into detail.

“Truth is, Miguel’s been coming over,” you say, trying to gauge his unwaveringly neutral reaction. “After that horrible brunch day he showed up in the middle of the night all fucked up so I let him stay. We talked briefly. I offered him ol’ the painkiller and scotch trick and since then he’s been coming over.”

“How frequently?”

You shrug. “Semi.”

There’s a pause, during which Peter’s jaw tightens as he leans back, raising his hands to his face. “Do you have —oh, I don’t know—an exact amount maybe?”

You mirror his position, resting your head against the backing of the couch. With a sigh you glance up to the ceiling and try to count every individual visit, realizing quickly that they sort of just flow together like one long conversation spanning over the course of eight or so weeks.

“I think twelve?”

His mouth drops open in shock. “Twelve?”

“Give or take.”

The next thing you know Peter’s grumbling into his hands, muttering about the double standard of rules —about how Miguel should know better and how this could ruin everything.

You’re sure it has something to do with some inter-dimensional laws. Like time travel, there’s probably some sort of code all the spiders live by where they don’t mess with the order of things. People from other universes aren’t meant to mingle unless it’s for the purpose of keeping order. Where you’re from is where you stay and Miguel showing up time and time again without anyone knowing is a direct violation of that.

“I don’t know if this is like, against the rules or whatever but he told me… things.”

“What kind of things?”

“Uh, things about me?”

It sounds wrong when you say it like that, especially when Peter sits back up, dropping his hands to look at you with wide eyes. You discover then that you definitely could have worded it better —thought about the implications of your phrasing before letting the words fly out of your mouth. This is a serious matter after all.

“He told me he knows me —sort of,” you explain. "I can’t remember the exact words, but it was something along the lines of in every universe you are infuriating followed by him arguing how he understands me more than I think he does.”

As you roll your eyes at the memory, you can see that Peter’s still processing, his gaze darting around the room at full speed. At the same time, his chest rises and falls in quick succession, his entire body fidgeting throughout the breaths until suddenly he’s completely still and staring at his watch.

“Did he say anything else?”

Despite everything he’s kept from you, you feel obligated to lie for Miguel. To stop the conversation right there and call it a day. In the long run, it’d save him a lot of grief —probably you as well depending on how he responds. If you stop now, that’s it. The book closes and you get to move on.

Do you even want that?

You’re not sure you do. Not after Miguel’s final words. Sure, you don’t really know what they mean —how they apply to you and him and all the rules that have been set in place, but at this point you’re not willing to wait to see how things play out. Your patience is thin on a good day, and considering the severity of everything happening the idea of staring at that ticking clock, waiting for whatever it is to happen, isn’t an option.

So you have to tell him. About Miguel’s confession, about the conversation in the control room, about those final words uttered before he kissed you.

“Hobie took me to HQ.”

It’s the only thing that needs to be said for Peter to understand that the situation is going further downhill. Immediately, his face falls into a panic, his hands moving to grip the roots of his hair as he sighs and leans back, waiting for the other bomb to drop.

When it does he’s a mess of anxious energy. Every thought that zips through his ears is showcased across his face, ranging from confused to angry, ending in desperation you’re not sure you’ve witnessed.

“I have to talk to him.”

He’s standing from the couch and stepping over your feet before you can even blink. Quickly, you follow and reach to grab the wrist that houses his watch, pulling him back to a reality where it’s just you and him and the urgency of everything is paused for just a minute.

“You need to talk to me first, Pete,” you beg, feeling him peel himself away from your grasp.

“He should’ve known not to come here.”

His fingers are rubbing rough circles into his temples now, pressurizing the stress. Turning it into a physical sensation he can work through. You know this because you do the same when you’re stressed. Something about feeling that pain on your skin instead of the inside of your head makes everything easier. More palatable when the world feels like it’s ending. It’s something Ben taught you to do when you were kids. “Localize that feeling and take deep breaths. It’ll make you feel better,” he’d say.

In this moment you want to repeat those words. To pull him close and tell him that everything’s going to be fine. That you’re never going to talk to Miguel ever again if it means that things can go back to the way they were.

“I know, I’m sorry. It’s just you and him —it… it wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“Like what?”

Your voice is harsher than you intend it to be. Full of an impatient venom that leaves a sour taste in your mouth. You want to know what he means without all the necessary filler. Already for weeks, you’ve been kept in the dark, longing to learn the truth and every time you get even an inch closer it always feels like you’re thrown three feet back, scrambling to remake progress.

“Peter, please. For once in your life don’t keep secrets just because you think it’ll keep me safe.”

It feels like you’re begging to no one. As if, instead of a person, there’s this empty vessel who’s staring back at you, lifeless in the eyes and face but still moving to press the screen of their watch.

“I’ll jump in after you.”

“I know.”

He says it so quietly you can barely hear it over the whirring of the portal that begins to form, shrouding you in a light that warms your skin as Peter motions you to follow.

Even though he single handedly has one of the most stressful lives in existence, it’s very rare you ever see Peter on edge. No matter the situation, there’s always an aura of calm that surrounds him. In high-stress environments, he’s able to push through the problems with little issue, ignoring the onslaught of doubts you’re sure are still there.

Because of this, seeing him all tense as you wander through the streets of an unfamiliar city, you find yourself frowning —worrying that maybe you’ve pushed him too far.

“This isn’t going to be pretty,” he tells you, sighing.

Stopping at a crosswalk, you both look left to right and back again, surveying the snow-covered streets in awe. It’s colder here. A good fifteen or so degrees below what it is back home. Everything in sight is enveloped in a white blanket twelve inches deep. Beneath your feet you can feel the presence of ice crackling against the pavement, making you cautiously step out onto the street when the light inevitably goes green.

“Where are we, anyway?”

“Earth-1867.”

You meant to ask which city, completely forgetting you’re in another dimension, but reserve asking him, knowing deep down you don’t really need to know. You’ll never be back here, anyways.

“It’s fucking freezing.”

Thankfully, before stepping into the portal, Pete handed you a jacket and some boots —both of which you nearly declined to take before noticing the look on his face. You figured because the weather was pretty mild back home you wouldn’t have to worry about it here. Then you quickly realized how ignorant that sounded and threw them on without question.

Now that you’re walking through the streets of some winter wonderland, you’re thankful for once you managed to listen.

“That’s what happens in Canada.”

“Canada?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly interested, you start to glance around a bit more, taking in all the unfamiliar buildings that line both sides of the streets. As expected, they look pretty similar to the ones back home. Small hole-in-the-wall shops with dark-coloured doors and big windows. Most of the signs are flipped closed, revealing nearly pitch-black interiors that have you squinting to look inside, but there’s also a few that remain open.

“Wait, where are we even going?”

“You’ll see.”

Groaning, you throw your head back in defeat to see the darkened sky. In the corners of your vision, the city lights glow faintly, shadowing the stars while simultaneously showcasing the huge puffs of snow that fall toward your feet.

Almost immediately, it makes you blink and look back down, noticing a masked spider-woman a couple of feet away. She’s waving at you excitedly with one hand while her other remains occupied by a drink tray full of cups.

“Hey!” Peter smiles and immediately returns the gesture, his pace quickening to meet her in the middle of the street, both of them going in for a hug.

“What’d you do get lost on the way or something?” she jokes once you’re near, nudging her elbow with his before handing him the drink tray. When he takes it he shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“You and your gifts.”

“What? It’s the way of my people, don’t be a dick about it.”

Peter raises his free hand in defence before offering you a cup. When you take it you practically melt against the heat, sighing contently as you thank her.

“No problem. Figured you could use a little pick me up after… y’know?”

You look at her confused, moving the cup to your lips to take a sip of arguably the best hot chocolate you’ve ever tasted.

“Pete texted me on the way over,” she explains then. “He didn’t give me details or anything if that’s what you’re worried about. Just said you wanted a little tour of the abandoned Alchemex building we got out on North York.”

Alchemex.

The liquid inside your throat catches, prompting you to double over and cough, causing panic in both Peter and his friend. Both of them jump to your aid, placing soft hands on either shoulder, watching intently as you clutch your throat, gasping for air, wondering what the hell’s going to happen next.

It can’t be good. Peter said it’d be rough and although he’s often the type to lie and keep secrets about the betterment of your health and safety, you’re certain this time he’s telling the truth. What lies behind the doors of that Alchemex building will be anything but easy for you to swallow and regardless of wanting to know, you’re still not sure you're ready.

“You okay?”

You nod slowly, feeling them both sidestep away to give you space. By that point, you can finally breathe again. As you inhale, you can feel the cold air rushing through your lungs, erasing the warmth entirely. It makes you shiver upon impact, your gaze catching the two of them staring at one another.

“I’m fine, sorry.”

“Right, well, uh, we should probably get going then. Let the tour commence and all that?”

Both you and Peter nod, causing the spider to clap her hands.

“Alright then, drink up. It’s about a twenty minute swing away.”

Her name is Riley Gaboury.

While you’re swinging through the air, clutching onto Peter’s back for dear life, she tells you this, then follows up with the same kind of spiel Hobie gave you earlier. The one about how she got bit by a spider and became Toronto’s one and only Spider-Woman.

As she speaks, you try your best to listen, feeling your ears sting from the chill of the air pelting against your skin. Based on the quickness of her voice you can tell it’s been a while since she’s had any visitors. Her voice feels never-ending, like an overexcited child explaining their favourite TV show.

In any other instance you’d be happy to talk with her —get to know her a bit better— but right now all you can feel is the cold anxiety creeping through your limbs.

All your extremities have pretty much gone numb, pulsing underneath the surface of near frostbitten skin and it’s becoming too much. More than anything you want to ask if you can stop and walk but knowing the obvious urgency you keep your mouth shut, trying your best to distract yourself as you take a particularly rough turn.

“Sorry,” Peter mumbles under his mask.

You groan back, barely able to think, let alone speak as he propels both of you forward over a nearby rooftop.

“We’re almost there, just a couple more blocks,” Riley calls out.

As you whizz past the traffic below, you can feel your stomach churning with anticipation. Although it’s only been a few hours, you can feel the oncoming disaster of knowing begin to move. Closer and closer it inches the further you swing, reminding you of the potential consequences. Of the inevitable complications that’ll come with knowing why you’re meant to remain in the darkness.

It feels almost too much as Riley points to a tall building lined entirely with windows, prompting both her and Peter to suddenly divert their path, building enough momentum so that they can gain height.

You almost vomit when you realize how high up you are. When Peter’s hands land firmly against the building’s side, you close your eyes and tuck your head into the crook of his neck, muttering curse word after curse word as he crawls you to the top, laughing once you fall onto the roof in a heap.

“Oh, my god, land,” you mutter, your body covered almost completely by the snow.

Riley snorts. “Whatever you do don’t look over the edge.”

At this point you wouldn’t dare, knowing how high up you are. Instead, you merely stand, feeling your legs shake as you brush off all the snow and turn to Peter who’s already wandering toward the rooftop entrance.

“So, uh, what’s the plan?”

“Stay close.”

You nod and wander over, watching him attempt to open the door but to no avail. “Locked?”

He groans and nods, turning towards Riley who’s already wandering over, producing a small metal rectangle with a button on it. “Move,” she says. Then out of nowhere, a large stick grows in her hand, causing you to stare in awe as she takes the end of it and starts to whack the window out.

“Is that a fucking hockey stick?”

As she pulls the contraption back, she nods her head. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah, cool,” you and Peter say in unison, watching her stab out the edges of the broken glass before reaching in to unlock the door.

After that you make quick work of moving through the building, quietly rushing through various halls and stairways, trying your best not to get too distracted by the pictures that line the walls. Most of them are abstract pieces you’d see in virtually any office, strips of colour layered overtop of each other, but scattered between there are employee pictures too. Faces of people you’ve never met, smiling in lab coats both by themselves and in groups.

You find yourself lingering on those, glancing down at the plaques that list their names. Jordan Boone. Liz Allen. Paul Phillip-Ravage, etc.

In the picture in front of you, there’s around a team of twenty all clumped together, smiling and holding each other tight. Due to the wear and tear of the building though, some of the faces have been scribbled out —graffitied over with a black sharpie. At the centre, there’s a pair of faceless people leaning against a giant tube of liquid, both of their hands pressing against the glass so closely you can see their pinkies interlocked.

“Hey, c’mon!”

As much as you want to defy orders and continue snooping, you follow Peter through a set of double doors and turn toward Riley. “What is this place?”

“It’s uh, hard to explain,” she says, her tone full of discomfort as Peter stops you in front of another set of doors.

“Mind keeping watch, Ri?” he interrupts.

Riley nods her head, offering you a blank look before barreling forward, shooting a pair of webs towards the ceiling so that she throws herself out of sight.

Once she’s gone you swallow hard, remembering why you’re here. Why after all this arguing and travelling and breaking and entering you find yourself standing in the middle of some barely lit hallway with your superhero brother.

You motion to the door. “This is it?”

“Yup.”

“A bit lacklustre, don’t you think?”

He scoffs and pushes open the door, holding it open as you follow closely behind, suddenly feeling the need to retract your statement because the room before you is anything but mesmerizing.

Filled to the brim with abandoned equipment, it’s almost as if the team located here just up and left, leaving everything as is. Desks covered in research papers and old monitors line the walls with little disturbance. Test tubes filled with unknown substances are stacked haphazardly throughout the room, taking up cupboards and tables.

Taking a few steps in, you notice all the small details of a testing lab. Coats hanging off hooks by the door, a kitchenette with a coffee maker and toaster oven, a whiteboard filled with old writing that’s been scrubbed away and replaced with crude drawings.

It’s as if the whole room’s been frozen in time.

“Holy shit.”

At the room’s centre, you see a tube identical to the one in the picture outside. The only difference is that it’s sustainably bigger and empty, the double-layered glass encapsulating nothing but air.

“What is this?”

“A battery.”

You look at Peter who’s now standing next to you, staring at it with his mask off.

“For what?”

“Inter-dimensional travel. In this universe it was the first of its kind —a breakthrough in modern physics,” he explains. “Alchemex employees in this department had been working on it for a while when one of their geneticists had a breakthrough.”

You stare at him, mouth half open, waiting for him to continue but he doesn’t. He just stands there, reaching out to touch the glass with a shaky hand that has you breathing heavily and looking around, trying to put two and two together.

It’s you, right? The geneticist. That’s why he brought you here.

“Wait, Peter, I—“

It’s too much, at first. This idea that another version of you could help create something so big. Obviously, every version of yourself is different. There’s no set standard for the level of understanding one has on certain subjects. In another life, you could be anything from a barista to an astronaut and it wouldn’t matter, because every universe is different. Every universe is unique and thriving and while, sure, some of them may overlap with the same sort of details, at their core they’re still completely separate.

“Everything’s connected.”

Or not.

“This event —the creation of a device that can ensure the use of inter-dimensional travel– is meant to happen in every universe. It’s canon, which is a term we spider’s use to explain various moments in our lives that have to happen.”

“Like a prophecy?”

“Sort of, yeah. Each of us have a set story that’s meant to be followed in some way. The spider bite, ASM-90, the tragic passing of a family member…” He trails off for a moment, looking at you, an air of guilt coating his features. “All of it has to happen for every universe to remain intact.”

When you go to look back at him, there’s a blooming of warmth that hits the side of your face, spreading throughout your cheeks and nose until it suddenly dissipates and you’re left watching your brother get slammed into the ground. Then suddenly, the room is filled with pained groans and angry grunts, the flashing of limbs struggling against each other making you realize that this was a mistake. That you were never meant to house this information.

As nothing more than a human, all you were meant to do was stand by and watch as the chapters of Peter’s predicted life unfolded around him. You were meant to turn a blind eye. To pretend that spider people were nothing more than vigilantes and that the secrets your brother withheld were for your own good.

You know now, watching him fight against Miguel’s heavy hands, that he was right about all of this. And that this is your fault. That you’re the reason the ground beneath him is breaking apart and there’s blood spurting from his mouth and nose.

“Miguel, stop!”

You scream louder than you ever thought possible as you rush to your brother’s aid, witnessing the onslaught of scratches and punches he receives. As you get closer, you see no signs of Miguel stopping so you stupidly reach out to grab his arm, earning yourself an elbow to the temple that you barely register through the adrenaline.

“I thought I told you not to tell her,” Miguel says through clenched teeth, ignoring your hands and how they claw at his back through his suit.

“Says you, asshole!”

You don’t expect Peter to reply, so when you hear your voice you stop for a moment, jumping at the presence of hands that quickly pull you away.

“Sorry, uh, just… stand here for a second,” Riley says, appearing seemingly out of nowhere, making you thankful because as much as you’d like to help you can’t do anything. You’re not a superhero nor do you have a retractable hockey stick that you can use to smash Miguel in the back of the head.

“You know, if we were on the rink you’d make the perfect goon,” she says, doing just that; using enough force to get him to stumble backwards.

“What does that even mean?” Scrambling to stand back up, Miguel groans and lunges for her, giving you enough time to rush over to Peter; he's heavily breathing, dripping in blood with his eyes closed.

Without even thinking you go in for a hug, hearing him moan in pain, prompting you to pull away and apologize.

“God, your boyfriend sucks,” he mumbles then, cringing as he pulls himself slowly out of the rubble before wiping the blood off his face.

If you were in any other situation you would have punched him for saying that. But considering he looks like he’s already knocking on death’s door you settle for an eye roll that stops midway, noticing the ongoing fight.

Both of them are up in the air, swinging back and forth to meet in the middle. Miguel reaches out to claw Riley’s webs but misses as she leaps off her tether and knocks him in the face again, sending him toward the floor.

“Goal!”

Peter, despite the shape he’s in, lets out a laugh and stands up, moving to stretch his limbs before shooting a web into Miguel’s chest. When it attaches directly at the centre of his solar plexus, Peter shoots another web towards the roof and begins swinging in circles, using the movement to begin wrapping Miguel in layers and layers of webs.

Following suit, Riley does the same thing, both of them floating around like a carousel until Miguel’s struggling against his newfound prison, loudly cussing them out in Spanish.

It’s quite the sight, seeing his seething form so suppressed. His nostrils flare out in heavy puffs as he stares at the three of you; his eyes narrowed eyes darting around until they land on you. Ever so quietly he says your name then, trying to ground himself through the rage that refuses to go away.

A part of you wants to move in closer —to tell him that everything is going to be okay— but deep down you know that isn’t true. Miguel came here with the intention of keeping this from you and having come this far you’ll be damned if you let that happen. No matter how wrong you know it is.

“Please, if you’d just listen.”

The way his mask fades away when he looks at you tells you he already knows this. As the moments pass, his expression turns from angry to anxious, his brows softening under the dim lights, casting shadows over his skin that make you frown and turn to Peter.

“Can you give us a sec?”

He’s hesitant at first but ultimately gives in, telling you that he and Riley will be outside before he plants a soft kiss to your injured temple and leaves.

“I'm sorry, I just—“

You barely give him enough time to explain before you're wrapping yourself around him. Your arms, tightly wound around his neck shake with a fear you’ve never known as you borrow your face into the crook of his neck, breathing so hard you think you might pass out.

“I hate you,” you lie, moving to press your nose into his throat.

“I know.”

You place the softest kiss on his Adam’s apple, feeling it vibrate beneath your lips. “I hate everything you stand for. I hate your secrets and your rules and your stupid society.”

“I know.”

Your forehead is firmly pressed against his chin as he says this, the breath of his voice bouncing off your skin in hot puffs that are swiftly replaced by his lips. Gently, he then places kiss after kiss across the expanse of your skin, ignoring the fact that you hate him. Ignoring the fact that he’s completely unworthy of everything that you’re offering him at this moment. Ignoring the way you glare at the decal of his suit with such an unbound rage you want to rip it apart.

“I don’t understand how talking about the canon breaks the canon.”

His lips freeze against your face before he pulls away with a groan, realizing that you know. “It doesn’t.”

“So—“

“The multiversal timeline is delicate.”

“Yeah, I’m aware,” you snap, moving away to look him in the eye.

“Anything that deviates from it constitutes as a direct violation of the canon,” he explains, glancing down to watch you scrunch up your face in annoyance. “You know if I actually put in the effort I could break out of here and easily kick your ass?”

“Says the man who lost to a hockey stick.” Fighting the urge to laugh, you press your forehead against his chest, feeling the air enter and exit his lungs.

“It’s not a hockey stick. It’s a fucking titanium bar shaped to look like one.”

“Still.”

The silence that falls over you after that is hard to navigate. You want to talk to him —to ask him more questions so that all of this can be over, but obviously, you know that’s not how it works. One complicated conversation doesn’t lead to an end. It just leads to more complicated conversations. That’s how life works, no matter what universe you’re in, and it sucks.

And it hurts, realizing that no matter how this plays out that Miguel and you can never happen. Sure, he’s never explicitly said it. The words we could never be have never been said or heard between either of you, but you know that’s how this ends. He tells you, he leaves. He doesn’t tell you, he still leaves.

It’s not fair.

“How come this can’t work?”

The question flies out of your mouth before you can even begin to suppress it, causing Miguel to widen his eyes and turn away, almost embarrassed.

“How come you get to go on living life knowing everything that’s ever happened between us in every single universe until the end of time while I have to sit here, pretending to know nothing until I forget?”

When he doesn’t say anything, you pull away, glaring at his chest and hands and face as you stand up. “Why does me knowing what we could’ve had mess with the canon? Huh? What part do I play? Is it because of that stupid battery? Is it because I’m the cause of this that you won’t talk to me?”

He’s staring at the floor now, completely avoiding your eyes and mouth and hands as they continue to ask all the questions he’s never wanted to answer.

“Did I do something to upset you? Did I fuck up your life or something because, Miguel, I don’t fucking know until you tell me!”

You’re crying now. The tears you’ve been holding on to since he pushed you through that portal are falling. Crashing onto the floor in small puddles that hit your knees when you inevitably drop back down. Throughout your frame there’s a rush of pain as you hit the ground and lean forward, pressing your elbows against the space in front of you as you curl into a ball, wishing that he’d say something.

When he doesn’t, you cry more, your body breaking under the pressure of understanding that this is all you’ll get.

It’s obvious then that Miguel isn’t a good man. He doesn’t care for you in the way you deserve. He just wants you. Or more so, this idea of you that he’s formed at the back of his head. To him, you’re nothing more than a temptation he’s created over time. A familiar body surrounding a completely different soul that’ll he always long for.

As you realize this you can hear ripping followed shuffles that grow closer until they’re wrapped around you, pulling you into a chest you wish to crawl inside for all eternity.

“I’ll tell you, okay? I’ll tell you everything, just… please don’t cry. Please.”

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